ILD    r^LOWERS 


Helen  M  .  Iohnson 


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Canadian  Wild  Flswers: 


SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS 


MISS  Helen  m.  Johnson, 

OF  MACi()(;,   p.   Q.,   CANADA, 


A  SKETCH  OF  HER  LIFE. 


BY   REV.  J.  M.  ORROCK, 
EiJiroK  OF  "Mkss] All's  Hekald,"  Boston,  Ma.ss. 


Good  thoughts  spring  from  the  huiiiaii  mind 
IJke  flowers  from  out  the  ground  : 

Atti-active,  fragrant,  beautiful,— 
To  make  our  joys  abound. 


]i  O  S  T  C)  N  : 

I'UUI.ISIIED   BY   .J.    M.    OlUiOCK, 
74   KXEKLAXD   8TKKKT, 

1884. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  188i,  by 

J.  M.  Okrock, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


J.  E.  BALLOU,   PRINTER,  74  KXEELAXD  STREET,  BOSTOX. 


p 


WxtUu, 


An  observance  of  the  hand  of  God  in  his  providences,  as 
well  as  of  his  Spirit  in  the  written  Word  and  in  tlie  human 
lieart,  has  led  to  tlie  publication  of  tliis  boolc.  Though  more 
than  twenty  years  have  passed  since  Miss  JoiiNsox  died,  lier 
name  is  like  "  an  ointment  poured  fortli."  Many  wlio  never 
knew  lier  personally  seem  to  know  her  well  from  her  poetic 
writings  :  for  "as  fragrance  to  the  sense  of  smell,  music  to 
tlie  ear,  or  beauty  to  the  eye,  so  is  poetry  to  the  sensibilities 
of  tlie  heart, — it  ministers  to  a  want  of  our  intellectual  na- 
ture ;  tills  is  the  secret  of  Its  i:)ower  and  the  pledge  of  its  per- 
petuity." A  IGmo  volume  of  her  "  Poems  "  was  published  in 
Boston,  in  1855,  but  has  long  been  out  of  print.  In  1864  the 
Rev.  E.  H.  Dewart  published  in  Montreal  a  work  entitled 
"  Selections  from  Canadian  Poets,"  in  which  ten  of  her  poems 
were  inserted  and  a  very  ajipreciative  notice  of  her  given. 
She  also  wrote  for  several  papers,  so  that  in  various  ways  her 
thoughts  have  been  widely  disseminated.  A  desire  has  often 
been  expressed  to  have  them  collected  into  one  volume;  but 
to  have  all  thus  republished  would  not  be  best.  I  have  there- 
fore attempted  only  what  the  title  indicates — to  make  selec- 
t'lonsfrom  her  writiwjs  ;  and  conclude  to  send  them  forth  un- 
der a  name  which  she  herself  chose  at  a  time  when  she  had 
thoughts  of  getting  out  a  book.  Let  critics  remember  that 
they  claim  to  be  only  ^^  Canadian  wild  flowers" ;  yet  we  feel 


4  PKEFACE. 

sure  that  some  of  them,  for  beauty  of  form  ami  f ravjrauce  of 
truth,  will  not  unfavorably  compare  with  some  uf  the  culti- 
voted  productions  of  our  classic  poets.  Miss  Johnson  was 
better  known  by  her  poetry  than  by  her  prose  writings,  yet  in 
the  latter  are  found  so  many  grand  thoughts  that  I  have  cop- 
ied from  tliem  freely.  The  biographical  sketch,  it  is  hoped, 
will  add  interest  to  the  book,  especially  as  so  many  of  her 
diary  notes  have  been  interwoven.  Some  of  her  pieces  are 
here  printed  for  the  first  time.  The  prize  poem  on  "  The 
Surrender  of  Quebec  "  is  given  in  full.  In  the  Preface  to  her 
"Poems"  she  said  :  "I  have  been  cheered  and  encouraged 
by  the  thought  that  perhaps  through  my  instrumentality  the 
heart  of  some  humble  believer  might  be  comforted,  and  some 
wretched  wanderer,  weary  of  the  vanities  of  earth,  be  directed 
to  the  only  source  of  life  and  happiness.  Should  such  be  the 
case,  the  brightest  hopes  of  the  authoress  will  be  fulfilled,  and 
she  herself  be  amply  compensated  for  her  care  and  labor." 
With  a  sincere  desire  to  aid^in  the  direction  thus  indicated 
this  little  work  is  now  sent  forth. 

J.  M.  O. 

Brookline,  Mass., 
June  22,  1SS4. 


CONTENTS. 


Life-Sketch  : 

Birth-place — The  Forest  (a  poem) — Conviction  of  sin — 
Dai^tism  aiid  Resolutions — Experience — Diary  notes  in 
verse — Sufferings — Last  poem — The  One  Name  and  Tlie 
Adieu  (poetry) — Death.  ....  9-34 

EuRAL  Scenes  : 


The  Wallc  in  June,    .       ■     . 

.        37 

An  Evening  Meditation, 

43 

Xature's  Resurrection,         .            .            .            . 

45 

The  Bird's  Nest,               .... 

46 

Gather  Violets,          .... 

47 

To  a  Dandelion,                .... 

48 

To  a  Robin,                 .... 

50 

God  is  There,        ..... 

51 

Tlie  Canadian  Farmer, 

52 

The  Return,          .            .            .            .            . 

54 

The  Old  Sugar-Camp, 

57 

To  a  Rabbit,          ..... 

59 

The  Old  Man,            .... 

GO 

The  Fading  and  the  Unfading  (prose), 

62 

On  Receipt  of  some  Wild  Flowers, 

62 

The  Sick  Girl's  Dream, 

63 

Tlie  Last  Song,          .... 

65 

An  Evening  Scene,          .... 

06 

Autumn  Teacliings  (prose). 

08 

The  Watcher,       ..... 

69 

COJSTTKNTS. 


Patriotic  Poems  : 

The  Surreuder  of  Quebec, 

Song  of  the  English  Peasant  Girl, 

A  Nation's  Desire, 

Canada's  Welcome, 

Our  Native  Land, 

The  Appeal, 

I  Love  the  Land  where  I  was  Born, 

The  World  to  Come, 

Temperance  : 

A  Welcome  to  a  Temi^erance  Picnic, 

A  Life-Scene — The  Letter, 

The  Pledge,    .... 

Sighs  on'  Mortality: 

What  is  Your  Life  ? 

Life, 

The  Silent  Army, 

The  Dying  Warrior, 

On  Seeing  a  Skull  (prose). 

Thoughts  on  Death, 

The  Battle-Field, 

Dead  and  Forgot, 

Dear  Emily, 

On  the  Death  of  a  Friend  (prose] 

The  Heavenly  Helper, 

The  Promise, 

The  Dead  Christ  (prose), 

The  Complaint, 

The  Mixed  Cup  (prose), 

I  Shall  Depart, 

Time  Flies, 

A  Voice  from  the  Sick  Room  (prose). 


71 

82 
83 
84 

84 
8G 
87 
89 


92 
93 
95 


101 
102 
104 
lOG 
107 
108 
111 
112 
114 
115 
116 
118 
120 
120 
122 
122 
124 
125 


COJ!^TENTS. 


SoxGS  OF  Hope: 

"  He  Giveth  Songs  in  the  Night,"        ...  130 
TliP.  Last  Good  Night,          .            .            .            .            .131 

Ketrospective  and  Prospective  (prose),             .            .  132 

Hope, 132 

Earth  Not  the  Christian's  Home,          .            .            .  133 

"We  Sorrow  Not  as  Otliers  Wi:.hout  Hope"  (prose),     .  136 

The  Messenger  Bird,       .....  137 

Our  Sliip  is  Homeward  Bound,       ....  138 

Midnight, 140 

Easter  Sunday  (prose),         .....  141 

The  Risen  Redeemer  (prose),     ....  142 

Dost  Tliou  Remember  Me  ?              ....  143 

'"T  is  I— Be  Not  Afraid,"         ....  144 

The  Only  Perfect  One  (prose),        ....  145 

Tlie  Dying  Christian,                   ....  146 

Tlie  Request,  .  .  .  .  .  .147 

Complete  in  Him  (prose),           ....  148 

Trust  in  God,             ......  149 

A  Paradox  (prose),          .....  150 

"  Thou  Shalt  Know  Hereafter,"  .  .  .151 

Thine  Eyes  Shall  See  tlie  King  in  His  Beauty  (prose),  152 

All  Is  Well, 153 

We  Shall  Meet,     ......  154 

What  the  Daughter  of  the  Cloud  Said  (prose),     .            .  155 

This  is  not  Home,            .            .            .            .            .  156 

The  Soul's  Consolation  (prose),      ....  157 

"  We  See  through  a  Glass  Darkly,"      .            .            .  158 

Words  of  Cheer  for  Fainting  Christians  (prose),              .  159 

Miscellany  : 

The  Dying  Year,              .....  162 

Incomprehensibility  of  God,            ....  162 

The  Star  of  Bethlehem,               ....  163 

God  Made  Me  Poor,              .....  164 


8                                                      CONTENTS. 

PAGK. 

The  Stranger  Guest,        .... 

165 

A  Long,  Delightful  Walk  (prose), 

.       166 

"  The  Servant  is  Not  Above  his  Master," 

167 

Elijah,             ...... 

.       169 

The  Sacred  Page,             .... 

171 

Behold  how  He  Loved  Us,  .... 

.      172 

Love  Your  Enemies,       .... 

174 

The  Orphan,               .            .            ... 

.      175 

Sententious  Paragraphs  (prose), 

178 

"  Ye  Did  It  Not  to  Me,"      .... 

.      179 

Hear  and  Help  Me,          .... 

180 

Farewell,        ...... 

.      181 

No  Mother,           ..... 

182 

To  a  Mother  on  the  Death  of  her  Child, 

.       183 

In  Goodness  is  True  Greatness, 

184 

Similes  (jirose),         ..... 

.       185 

The  Crucified  of  Galilee, 

187 

The  Ascension,         ..... 

•    .      188 

The  Ilcbrew's  Lament, 

190 

When  Shall  I  Receive  my  Diploma  ?  (prose). 

.      191 

Alone  with  Jesus,            .... 

192 

The  Lost  Babe,          ..... 

.      194 

The  Day  of  Wrath,          .... 

195 

The  Believer's  Safety  (prose), 

.      197 

mu  j'Uctfit. 


73^  HE  liill  country  of  Judea,  which  furnished  a  home 
ih':.  for  the  virgin  mother  of  our  Lord,  is  not  the  only 
'i^  rural  region  from  Avhence  have  come  women  en- 

■^  dowed  with  intelligence  and  integrity,  philan- 
tliropy  and  religion,  who  by  pen  and  tongue  have 
brightened  and  blest  the  hearts  and  homes  of  thou- 
sands. jSTurtured  amidst  the  wilds  of  nature,  instead 
of  the  bustle  and  bewildering  attractions  of  city  life, 
they  have  grown  strong  to  do  battle  for  the  right  and 
to  bear  testimony  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.  Of 
this  class  is  the  one  whose  life  and  labors  we  are  now 
to  consider. 

Memphremagog  is  an  enchanting  lake,  two-thirds 
of  which  lie  in  the  Eastern  Townships  of  Canada,  in 
the  Province  of  Quebec,  and  the  upper  third  in  Ver- 
mont. Its  extreme  length  from  north  to  south  is 
about  thirty  miles,  its  breadth  varying  from  one  to 
three  miles.  It  is  semi-circular  in  form  and  bestud- 
ded  with  islands ;  while  on  its  western  shore  rise 
mountains  of  no  ordinary  attractions,  among  them 
Owl's  Head,  which  towers  about  2,500  feet  above  the 
surface  of  the  lake,  affording  from  its  summit  a  pano- 
ramic view  of  surpassing  loveliness.  It  was  at  "  The 
Outlet "  of  this  lake  there  was  born,  Oct.  27,  1834, 
Helen'  Mar,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Abel  B.  and 


10  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEES. 

Polly  Johnson;  and  there  she  spent — with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  time  devoted  to  attending  or  teaching 
school — almost  her  entire  life.  Of  cities  she  knew 
nothing  by  experience  ;  but  as  her  reading  was  exten- 
sive she  knew  much  of  the  world  by  mental  surveys. 
The  book  of  Nature  was  her  delight.  Its  illustra- 
tions of  stones  and  streams,  lakes  and  rivers,  moun- 
tains and  forests,  birds  and  flowers,  were  ever  attract- 
ive to  her.  At  an  early  age  she  began  to  exhibit  rare 
poetic  talent.  Of  "  a  number  of  short  pieces,  Avritten 
between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  fifteen  years,"  the 
following,  entitled  "  The  Forest,"  has  been  preserved. 
It  appeared  in  the  Stanstead  Journal — a  paper  to 
which  she  afterwards  frequently  contributed.  It  was 
probably  the  first  article  she  ever  had  printed. 

"  Let  others  seek  sweet  fnendship's  voice 
When  grief  the  spirit  bends, 
Let  them  find  solace  in  the  tones 

Of  their  beloved  friends; 
But  oh!  when  sorrow  o'er  me  broods, 
Give  me  the  dark,  the  dark  green  woods. 

"  When  pleasure  lights  the  sparkling  eye, 

And  swells  with  rapture  proud. 
Let  others  spend  their  joyous  mirth 

Within  the  giddy  crowd ; 
But  when  o'er  me  no  clouds  are  seen, 
Give  me  the  forest,  dark  and  green. 

"  When  pure  devotion  fills  the  heart. 
And  breathes  a  yearning  prayer, 
Let  others  wander  to  the  church 

And  pay  their  tribute  there; 
But  if  o'er  me  such  feelings  steal, 
Li  the  dark  forest  let  me  kneel. 

"  When  death  comes  o'er  the  pallid  brow 
To  number  with  the  dead. 


LIFK-SKETCH.  11 

Let  others  choose  some  lovely  grave, 

Where  tears  will  oft  be  shed; 
But  let  me,  let  nie  find  a  tomb 
Deep  iu  the  forest's  darkening  gloom." 

Her  life  was  not  one  of  thrilling  adventure,  hair- 
breadth escapes,  and  deeds  securing  worldly  applause, 
but  quiet,  unobtrusive  and  useful.  Her  constitution 
was  naturally  weak — her  brain  too  active  for  her  body, 
and  as  a  consequence  much  mental  and  physical  suf- 
fering was  her  portion.  To  her  studies — French, 
Latin  and  drawing,  besides  the  English  branches — 
she  was  very  devoted.  Nothing  pleased  her  better 
than  to  be  alone  with  books,  pen  and  pencil,  or  to 
wander  forth  in  garden  or  field.  Being  of  a  very 
bashful  and  retiring  disposition  she  felt  alone  even  in 
company.  Her  diary  leaves  give  evidence  of  this. 
Under  date  of  June  19, 1852,  for  example,  she  writes  : 

"  How  lonely  I  feel  to-day !  and  my  rebellious 
heart  will  repeat  the  question,  Why  was  I  created 
thus  ?  I  stand  alone,  and  why  ?  I  know  it  is  my 
own  self  that  makes  me  so ;  but  how  can  I  make  my- 
self otherwise  ?  I  have  tried  very,  venj  hard  to  over- 
come my — what  shall  I  call  it  ?  bashfulness  ?  It 
seems  as  though  it  could  not  be  wholly  that.  I  have 
seen  those  the  world  called  bashful,  but  they  were  not 
at  all  like  myself.     Oh,  no ;  I  am  wretched  at  times 

on  account  of  this .     When  I  see  myself  all  alone 

— different  from  those  around  me — I  cannot  stay  the 
burning  tear  though  I  would  gladly  repress  it.  I 
cannot  soothe  the  anguish  that  fills  my  heart,  and  yet 
I  feel  that  this  is  wrong, — that  it  ought  not  to  be 
thus.  Why  should  I  feel  so  keenly  that  I  am  alone  ? 
that  I  am  strange  ?     Earthly  scenes  will  soon  be  over, 


12  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

and  if  I  am  only  a  Cliristian  I  shall  never  feel  alone 
in  heaven.  Oh,  glorions  thought !  there  will  be  no 
strange  being  there.  0  God,  prepare  me  for  that 
blissful  world  and  I  will  no  longer  complain  of  my 
loneliness  on  earth — no  longer  sigh  that  I  am  not  like 
others." 

At  this  time  Miss  Johnson  was  not  a  professed 
Christian.  Her  parents  had  endeavored  to  bring  her 
up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  and  a  belief  of  the  gospel, 
and  to  attend  the  services  of  the  sanctuary.  Her  life 
had  been  one  of  strict  morality.  She  believed  in  God 
but  had  not  taken  Christ  as  her  oivn  personal  Savlour 
and  confessed  him  before  men  as  she  felt  she  should. 
Her  conviction  of  sin  however  was  deep  and  pungent. 
On  another  day  in  the  same  month,  she  says  : — 

"  0  Earth,  thou  art  a  lovely  place,  and  some  of  thy 
inhabitants  are  as  lovely  and  happy  as  thyself.  See 
that  beautiful  bird,  with  shining  plumage  and  bril- 
liant crest,  and  hear  the  melodious  notes  that  arise 
from  its  silvery  throat !  Its  form  proclaims  beauty, 
and  its  song  happiness.  See  those  snow-white  lambs 
skipping  over  the  verdant  grass, — now  nestling  sport- 
ively beside  their  bleating  mothers,  then  springing 
forward,  bounding  from  knoll  to  knoll,  and  filling  the 
air  with  strains  of  joy  and  delight !  See  yonder  but- 
terfly weighing  itself  upon  that  brilliant  flower  :  his 
gorgeous  wings  are  expanded  and  glittering  in  the  sun 
like  sparkling  gems  !  See  those  bright-eyed  children  ! 
their  glowing  cheeks,  their  beaming  eyes,  and  above 
ail  their  clear  and  merry  laugh  proclaiming  happiness 
pure  and  unbounded.  Earth  is  truly  lovely,  but  its 
inhabitants  are  not  all  happy.  Oh  no,  not  all,  for  one 
who  loves  the  beauties  of  earth,  rejoices  in  the  loveli- 


LIFE-yivETCH.  13 

iiess  of  nature,  and  finds  her  chief  pleasures  in  the 
spreading  grove,  by  the  babbling  brook,  among  the 
brilliant  flowers,  is  sad  and  unhappy.  And  why? 
Because  she  has  learned  too  soon  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  [real  and  abiding]  happiness  on  earth,  that 
the  fairest  plants  wither,  that  pleasure  is  a  deceitful 
phantom — false  and  fleeting.  Truly  she  has  learned 
all  this,  and  will  she  never  learn  to  raise  her  eyes  to 
that  bright  world  where  true  happiness  only  resides, 
and  to  trust  meekly  in  Him  who  is  the  only  Dispenser 
of  peace  and  joy  ?  " 

Later  we  have  another  entry  in  which,  after  again 
referring  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  she  exclaims  : 

"  0  life,  life !  I  fain  would  read  thy  mysteries :  I  fain 
would  draw  aside  every  vail  and  behold  for  what  pur- 
pose I  was  created.  Was  it  to  be  an  heir  of  sorrow  ? 
was  it  to  live  for  myself  alone,  and  then  pass  away 
and  let  my  memory  perish  with  me  ?  No,  I  was  born 
for  a  better — a  higher  and  more  holy  purpose.  I  was 
not  born  to  pass  a  few  moments  on  the  stage  of  life 

and  then  disappear  forever With  a  shudder  I 

turn  away  and  would  gladly  forget  to  think.  O 
thought,  thought !  thou  wilt  distract  me, — thou  hast 
almost  hurled  reason  from  her  throne.  Thou  bitter 
tormentor  !  depart,  if  but  for  a  moment,  and  let  me 
once  more  find  peace.  But  no ;  the  more  I  seek  to 
elude  still  nearer  the  demon  pursues.  0  thought, 
thought !  it  rushes  forth  from  my  soul  like  the  wild 
outpourings  of  the  volcanic  mountains  and  overwhelms 
me  with  its  burning  tide  till  body,  mind  and  soul — 
all,  all  are  exhausted  and  lie  like  a  straw  upon  the 
roaring  bosom  of  the  deep.  Oh,  that  I  could  arise, 
mingle  with  the  gay,  and  forget  my  own  deep  and- 
overpowering  thoughts.  But  no  ;  such  thoughts,  like 
the  soul  Avhich  gave  them  birth,  can  never  die.     0- 


14  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWKilS. 

thought,  what  art  thou  ?  A  blessing  to  angels,  a 
curse  to  me.  Distracted  soul,  sink  into  repose :  others 
are  happy,  and  wast  thou  born  to  be  more  wretched 
than  they  ?  Truly  thou  wast,  and  why  ?  Because 
thou  livest  only  in  the  regions  of  thought — thought 
which  is  burning  my  brain  and  piercing  my  lacerated 
heart.  And  yet  a  thought  freiglited  with  light  beams 
through  the  dark  clouds  which  its  darker  sisters  have 
thrown  around  me,  and  the  only  inscription  which  it 
bears  is,  '  Live  for  others'  And  another  thought  fol- 
lows in  rapid  succession, — like  a  far-off  echo  it  repeats 
the  words  of  its  predecessor,  '  Live  for  others,'  and 
then  adds  (while  a  vivid  flash  of  the  lightning  of 
truth  lights  up  the  darkness  of  error),  '  Live  for  God 
and  for  heaven.'  A  loud  crash  follows.  Peals  of 
thunder  shake  the  atmosphere  of  my  soul !  Self  has 
fallen :  I  will  live  for  others,  for  God  and  for  heaven^ 

This  was  a  grand  resolve  ;  but  not  yet  was  the  soid 
to  be  out  of  prison,  the  pilgrim  to  be  freed  from  the 
Slough  of  Despond.     Once  more  she  has  to  write : — 

"  Everything  is  beautiful,  and  all  nature  is  glad  and 
rejoicing.  Arise,  my  soul,  and  be  thou  glad  likewise. 
Cast  off  thy  gloomy  fears.  The  God  who  made  all 
the  beautiful  things  by  which  thou  art  surrounded  is 
not  unmindful  of  thee.  Oh,  wondrous  condescension ! 
God  is  not  forgetful  of  7?^e.  He  gazes  upon  me  with 
an  eye  of  compassion  ;  he  pities  my  distress  and  my 
weakness.  Amazing  love  !  Oh,  that  I  were  more  wor- 
thy of  it ;  Oh,  that  I  loved  him  as  fervently  as  I  ought! 
But  my  heart  is  callous,  and  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor, 
cold,  vile  and  helpless  sinner  :  nothing  but  sin  dwells 
in  my  heart.  It  is  the  seat  of  every  vice,  every  evil 
thought,  and  every  depraved  passion.  [Jer.  17  :  9, 
10 ;  Mark  7  :  21-23].  Dark  and  gloomy  clouds  en- 
velope my  soul.     A  weight  of  sorrow  presses  upon 


LIFE-SKETCH.  15 

my  lieart,  and  I  vainly  strive  to  free  mj^self  from  its 
influence.  Everything  looks  dark.  '  My  God,  my 
God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  why  art  thou  so 
far  from  helping  me  ?  '  '  How  long  wilt  thou  forget 
me,  0  Lord  ?  forever  ?  How  long  wilt  thou  hide  thy 
face  from  me  ? '  '  Mine  iniquities  are  gone  over  my 
head  :  as  a  heavy  burden  they  are  too  heavy  for  me. 
Lord,  all  m}^  desire  is  before  thee  ;  and  my  groaning 
is  not  hid  from  thee.  Make  haste  to  help  me.'  '  My 
soul  fainteth  for  thy  salvation,  but  I  hope  in  thy 
word.'  0  my  God,  hear  my  crv,  and  answer  my  peti- 
tion." 

"  Tuesday,  June  21),  1852.  The  sultry  fires  of  the 
day  have  yielded  to  the  cool  breezes  of  evening.  A 
misty  cloud  hangs  over  the  once  azure  sky,  and  the 
deep,  heavy  roea'  of  thunder  shakes  the  quiet  air. 
Nearer  and  nearer  still  it  rolls  its  deep-toned  voice, 
and  all  nature  seems  to  reply.  The  vivid  lightnings 
flash.  The  fountains  on  high  are  opened,  and  the 
rain  pours  down  in  torrents.  Wilder  grows  the 
storm :  the  winds  are  released  from  their  '  prison- 
cave,'  and  armed  with  fury  they  rush  madly  forth ; 
brighter  the  lightnings  glare,  louder  the  thunders 
roar.  The  whole  fabric  of  nature  seems  in  commo- 
tion !  Oh,  Avho  can  gaze  upon  such  a  scene  without 
emotions  of  awe,  wonder  and  admiration  ?  Surely 
such  an  one  must  possess  a  stony  heart  and  a  cold 
nature.  There  is  beauty  for  me  in  the  lightning's 
glare — there  is  music  in  the  thunder's  peal !  God 
grant  that  there  may  be  beauty  and  glory  for  me  in 
the  day  when  the  thundering  notes  of  the  last  trum- 
pet shall  shake  the  heavens  and  awaken  the  sleeping 
dead, — ^Avhen  'the  elements  shall  melt  with  fervent 
heat,'  and  every  soul  of  every  tribe,  and  tongue  and 
nation  shall  stand  before  the  judgment-seat  to  receive 
their  final  doom  !     0  grant  that  the  Judge  may  be  my 


10  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

friend,  and  that  I — the  poorest,  the  lowest,  the  vilest 
of  sinners — may  find  a  seat  at  his  right  hand ;  and 
the  vaults  of  heaven  shall  forever  ring  with  the 
praises  of  a  redeemed,  sinner,  saved,  only  through  the 
grace  and.  blood  of  the  crucified  Saviour." 

But  the  hour  was  at  hand  when  there  was  to  come 
such  relief  to  the  troubled  soul  as  it  had  never  before 
experienced, — when  the  divine  Comforter  was  to  take 
of  the  things  of  Christ  and  reveal  them  to  the  longing 
heart, — and  this  maiden  avow  herself  before  the  world 
a  disciple  of  Christ.     How  was  this  to  be  effected  ? 

Sunday,  July  25,  I  had  an  appointment  to  preach 
in  Magog,  and  after  the  forenoon  service  expected  to 
baptize  a  young  lady  Avho  had  been  a  schoolmate  of 
Miss  Johnson.  In  view  of  that  arrangement  I  urged 
that  they  should  both  go  together  in  the  ordinance, 
bu!t  could  get  no  encouragement  that  it  would  be  so. 
We  went  to  the  church,  where  I  preached  from  Col. 
3  :  1—4,  and  after  sermon  announced  the  hymn, — 

"  Gracious  Lord,  incline  thine  ear, 
My  request  vouclisafe  to  hear; 
Burdened  with  my  sins,  I  cry, 
Give  me  Christ,  or  else  I  die. 


Father,  thou  hast  given  thy  Son, 
Bruised  for  sins  that  I  have  done; 
To  that  refuge  now  I  fly; 
Christ  is  mine — I  shall  not  die." 

The  effect  and  what  folloAved  I  will  allow  her  to  relate 
in  her  own  words  : — 


LIFE-SKETCH.  17 

"  Oh,  the  agony  and  the  i^erfect  peace  that  I  have 
this  day  enjoyed !  The  agony  in  the  morning  was 
almost  insupportable.  It  seemed  then  utterly  impos- 
sible for  me  to  take  up  so  heavy  a  cross  as  to  follow 
my  Saviour  in  the  ordinance  of  baptism.  The  very 
thought  was  dreadful,  and  yet  I  knew  that  it  was  my 
duty.  I  felt  that  the  anger  of  God  would  be  kindled 
against  me, — that  his  Holy  Spirit  would  not  always 
strive  with  me.  I  threw  myself  upon  my  knees  ;  but 
could  find  no  peace  there  as  long  as  I  continued 
proudly  obstinate.  I  started  from  my  knees  and 
seized  'the  holy  Book  of  God';  but  there  was  nothing 
there  to  comfort  me.  I  paced  the  room  hurriedly,  at 
every  step  exclaiming,  '  What  shall  I  do  ? '  and  yet 
I  knew  what  to  do,  but  would  not  do  it.  Thus  the 
morning  passed  away,  and  trembling  with  emotion  I 
entered  the  house  of  God.  The  sermon  seemed  de- 
signed expressly  for  me.  At  its  close  I  grew  more 
agitated.  The  last  hymn  Avas  read,  and  after  singing 
we  were  to  repair  to  the  water,  where  one  happy 
being  was  to  follow  her  blessed  Saviour  into  a 
watery  grave.  Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  that  hymn, — 
never,  no  never.  The  closing  line  of  each  verse 
seemed  as  an  echo  from  my  own  heart,  'Give  me 
Christ  or  else  I  die ';  but  as  the  last  line  of  the  last 
verse  fell  upon  my  ear — '  Christ  is  mine,  I  shall  not 
die,^' — I  think  that  then  I  did  truly  feel  determined 
to  come  boldly  forth  and  claim  the  precious  promises 
of  God  as  my  oion. 

"We  sought  the  water's  side,  when  Josephine 
asked  me  in  a  trembling  voice  if  I  Avould  be  baptized. 
I  thought  she  expected  an  answer  in  the  negative — 
at  least  I  knew  that  she  might  reasonably  expect  it, 
for  I  had  told  her  plainly  in  the  morning  that  I  could 
not.  My  heart  was  too  full  to  speak  :  "l  only  bowed 
my  head  in  token  of  assent.     I  shall  never  forget  the 


18  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

look  of  joy  that  beamed  in  her  countenance,  nor  the 
emotions  that  filled  my  own  bosom.  I  saw  Eliza  en- 
ter the  water.  Oh,  glorious  sight !  I  never  saw, 
never  imagined  so  beautiful  a  scene.  Every  fear  van- 
ished, every  cloud  withdrew  from  my  soul,  and  I 
longed  to  enter  the  waving  flood.  0  my  Saviour  !  I 
did  not  enter  it  alone.  Surely  it  was  nothing  short 
of  the  almighty  arm  of  God  that  supported  me  then. 
I  never  in  all  luy  life  had  so  little  fear  of  man  :  I  had 
no  fear  then.  Truly  it  was  a  foretaste  of  heaven. 
Oh,  happy,  thrice  happy  moment !  it  was  worth  a 
whole  lifetime  of  sorrow.  If  I  could  always  feel  as  I 
did  then  my  heart  would  never  again  be  bowed  down 
with  grief:  but  that  very  afternoon  Satan  began  to 
whisper:  'You  will  not  live  up  to  your  profession; 
you  have  deceived  yourself  and  others ;  you  are  still 
a  wicked  creature  ;  you  are  not  a  Christian  ';  and  yet 
by  the  grace  of  God  I  was  able,  in  some  degree  at 
least,  to  resist  him. 

"  When  I  partook  of  the  Lord's  sujjper  I  felt  a  rep- 
etition of  the  happiness  I  had  while  obeying  the  com- 
mand of  my  Saviour  and  following  him  into  a  Avatery 
grave.  How  vividly  the  last  supper  which  Christ 
partook  of  with  his  disciples  presented  itself  to  my 
mind  !  and  then  I  looked  forward  with  joyful  hope  to 
the  day  Avhen  all  the  saints  of  God  shall  eat  bread  in 
his  glorious  kingdom, — when  all  of  every  age  and 
clime  shall  be  gathered  around  the  table,  and  Jesus 
Christ  himself  be  in  their  midst.  It  was  a  soul-in- 
spiring thought,  and  for  all  the  wealth  of  a  thousand 
worlds  like  this  I  would  not  have  been  absent  from 
that  communion — from  which  I  had  so  often  absented 
myself.  Yes ;  I  had  never  before  partaken  of  the 
Lord's  supper ;  and  it  Avas  my  own  wicked  heart  which 
had  kept  me  away,  for  God  had  called  loudly  upon 
me,  and  his  Holy  Spirit  had  again  and  again  striven 


LIFE-SKETCH.  19 

with  me.  Oh,  what  a  sinner  I  have  been,  and  what  a 
long-suffering  God!  I  Avonder  that  he  did  not  cast 
me  off  forever.  Oh,  what  mercy !  '  Bless  the  Lord, 
0  my  soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me  bless  his  holy 
name.  Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul,  and  forget  not  all 
his  bcnehts.'  And  now,  have  I  forsaken  all  for 
Christ?  Have  I  thrown  myself— body,  soul  and 
spii-it — upon  the  altar  ?  I  do  want  to  sacrifice_  every- 
thing for  Christ,  and  bi/  the  grace  of  God  I  will  x^er- 
f orm  the  following  : — 

"  1.  When  my  duty  appears  plain  I  will  do  it,  what- 
ever may  be  the  consequences. 

"  2.  I  will  never  be  ashamed  to  confess  Christ  be- 
fore the  world. 

"3.  I  will  consecrate  my  talents  entirely  to  the 
Lord. 

"4.  I  will  never  employ  my  pen  in  writing  any- 
thing which  I  might  regret  at  the  bar  of  God. 

"5.  I  will  never  permit  any  one  of  my  composi- 
tions to  be  printed  unless  I  can  in  sincerity  ask  the 
blessing  of  God  to  attend  it. 

'•'  6.  As  I  shall  be  brought  into  judgment  for  every 
idle  word  I  say,  I  will  endeavor  never  to  engage  in 
trifling  conversation,  but  on  every  proper  occasion  to 
speak  of  the  wondrous  grace  of  God. 

"  7.  I  will,  whenever  a  good  opportvmity  occurs, 
warn  my  young  companions  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to 
come. 

"8.  I  will  strive  to  set  my  affections  on  things 
above,  not  on  things  on  the  earth. 

'•'  9.  By  the  assistance  of  the  Holy  Spirit  I  will  en- 
deavor to  keep  evil  thoughts  out  of  my  heart,  and  to 
meditate  upon  the  law  of  God. 

"  10.  I  will  never  pass  a  day  without  seeking  some 
secret  place  at  least  twice  a  day,  and  pouring  out  my 
soul  in  prayer  to  God. 


20  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEES. 

"11.  I  will  study  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  en- 
deavor to  understand  what  I  read. 

"  12.  I  Avill  try  to  do  all  I  can. 

"  0  God,  assist  me  to  perform  what  I  have  written 
in  thy  fear  and  to  thy  glory.  I  am  perfect  weakness : 
but  '  thou  knowest  my  frame,  thou  rememberest  that 
I  am  dust.'  I  know  thou  art  merciful ;  Oh,  give  me 
a  more  exalted  faith.  Help  me  to  come  boldly  for- 
ward and  claim  thy  promises  as  mine.  Humble  my 
pride  ;  keep  me  at  thy  feet ;  let  not  the  temptations 
of  Satan  overcome  me,  but  may  I  trust  myself  in 
thine  arms.  May  I  love  thee  fervently,  above  every- 
thing else — better  far  than  my  own  life.  I  can  do 
nothing  unless  thou  dost  assist  me.  Oh,  support  me, 
and  save  me  at  last  in  thy  kingdom,  for  Christ's 
sake." 

In  the  evening  of  that  ever  memorable  Sabbath  she 
ofiiered  aloud  a  few  words  of  prayer  at  the  family 
altar,  and  next  day  (as  she  was  then  teaching)  had 
prayer  in  her  school :  thus  she  "  confessed  with  the 
mouth  the  Lord  Jesus  "  while  in  her  heart  she  be- 
lieved that  God  had  raised  him  from  the  dead  (llom. 
10  :  9).  Immediately  after  the  Son  of  God  himself 
was  baptized,  he  was  in  the  wilderness  "tempted  of 
the  devil  "j  it  need  not  be  thought  strange  therefore 
if  his  followers  soon  after  their  baptism  are  also 
grievously  assaulted  by  the  same  adversary.  This 
young  Christian  did  not  escape  him  entirely;  yet 
from  that  day  until  her  death,  though  conscious  of 
much  weakness  and  imperfection,  having  many  dark 
days  and  great  sufferings,  she  never  renounced  her 
allegiance  to  the  King  of  kings,  who  had  bought  her 


LIFE-SKETCH.  21 

witli  his  blood.  A  few  more  selections  from  her 
diary  will  show  the  working  of  her  mind  about  this 
time. 

"  Aiig.  7.  A  calm  and  quiet  morning.  A  soothing 
calm  steals  over  my  soul.  Faith,  with  triumphant 
wing,  rises  far  above  the  scenes  of  earth  and  points 
to  that  glorious  world  where  Christ  pleads  for  me  be- 
fore the  throne  of  his  Father.  The  doubts  which 
have  so  long  filled  my  heart  are  sinful  and  dishonor- 
ing to  God,  and  I  will  no  longer  give  place  to  them : 
I  will  look  away  from  myself — from  my  sins — to  the 
holy  Lamb  of  God.  I  will  trust  Avholly  in  him  and 
in  his  merits  alone  for  acceptance." 

"  Sunday,  Aug.  8.  What  I  have  done  to-day  would 
once  have  seemed  impossible,  the  cross  that  I  have 
taken  up  would  have  seemed  almost  insupportable.  I 
could  not  have  believed  the  last  time  I  attended  the 
prayer-meeting  that  at  the  next  one  I  should  stand  up 
as  a  witness  for  Christ.  But  thank  God !  my  proud 
heart  has  in  some  degree  been  humbled,  and  the  dear- 
est hope  I  now  cherish  is,  that  Christ  may  not  be 
ashamed  to  confess  me  before  his  Father  and  all  the 
holy  angels." 

"  A%tg.  22,  While  standing  this  evening  by  the 
grave  of  one  dearly  beloved  in  life,  and  cherished  more 
fondly  now  that  death  has  taken  her  from  my  embrace, 
I  could  not  stay  the  soaring  flight  of  fancy,  which 
would  portray  to  my  mind  in  vivid  colors  our  meet- 
ing at  the  great  Eesurrection  morn  ;  and  the  thought 
that  that  meeting  was  so  near — that  in  a  very  little 
while  the  grave  should  lose  its  power  and  that  she 
would  come  forth  robed  in  immortal  beauty,  filled  my 
soul  with  transport  and  almost  brought  to  my  lips  the 
yearning  cry,  '  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  and  come  quickly.'  " 

On  the  27th  of  August  Miss  JonK-sox  closed  her 


22  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

scliool,  and  after  spending  a  few  weeks  at  home  went 
to  the  academy  at  Derby  Centre,  Vt.  Under  dote  of 
"Wednesday,  Oct.  26,"  we  have  this  entry  in  her 
journal : — 

"Attended  the  exercises  to-night  and  read  a  com- 
position. They  could  not  have  liked  it,  for  it  was 
upon  a  subject  which  must  be  disagreeable  to  the 
world ;  and  yet  it  is  the  subject  nearest  my  heart — 
one  that  I  love  to  dwell  upon  and  to  hear  about :  the 
coming  of  my  blessed  Saviour.  When  will  the  glori- 
ous morn  apjjear !     Loud  and  repeated  cheers  were 

given  when  Miss read  her  composition.     Well, 

it  was  good ;  such  as  would  suit  the  world,  but  not 
mc — strange  being  tliat  I  am.  But  I  shall  not  always 
be  so  :  in  heaven  I  shall  not  be  a  stranger.  There  I 
can  converse  with  the  saints  dearly-beloved :  for  their 
conversation  will  be  on  the  things  of  God ;  and  my 
Saviour  himself  Avill  deign  to  address  me  there ! 
Why  should  I  not  then  long,  aye  long  to  obtain  that 
blissful  state  ?  And  yet  I  sometimes  fear  that  I  shall 
fall  far  short  of  it,  for  I  am  so  vile  and  polluted." 

The  "composition"  referred  to  we  do  not  find 
among  her  papers ;  but  much  that  she  has  Avritten 
shows  that  she  was  indeed  deeply  interested  in  "that 
blessed  hope  "  (Tit.  2  :  13).  She  was  a  decided  pre- 
millennialist,  and  stood  identified  in  her  church-mem- 
bersliii3  with  the  Evangelical  Adventists.  On  com- 
pleting her  eighteenth  year  (Oct.  27, 1852),  she  said: — 

"  This  evening,  while  looking  back  through  all  the 
events  of  my  life,  what  is  there  that  rejoices  me 
most  ?  It  is  one  that  the  past  year  has  brought  forth, 
— one  that  will  ever  be  remembered  with  deep  and 
powerful  emotions  :  the  day  that  consecrated  me  to 


LIFE-SKETCH.  23 

the  Lord,  when  I  breathed  forth  with  a  fervent  heart, 
*  Give  me  Clirist,  or  else  I  die/  and  I  was  enabh:'d  to 
take  up  my  cross  and  follow  my  Saviour  in  baptism." 

Here  there  is  no  regret  expressed  for  the  step  she 
had  taken,  nor  did  she  ever  feel  any,  though  she 
greatly  deplored  her  weakness  and  unprofitableness 
in  the  Lord's  service.  And  why  not  ?  Listen  to 
her,  under  date  of  June  13,  1853 : — 

"  How  sweet,  when  the  soul  has  no  earthly  support, 
to  fly  to  the  Eock  of  Ages  !  The  Saviour  is  precious 
to  the  heart  of  the  pardoned  sinner.  There  is  noth- 
ing like  the  love  of  Jesus.  He  is  not  like  other 
friends — oftentimes  wearied  by  our  complaints  and 
the  repetition  of  our  sorrows,  but  is  always  longsuffer- 
ing  and  delighting  to  hear  and  answer  every  cry  of  the 
burdened  spirit ;  smiling  ever  in  the  darkest  of  afflic- 
tions, and  forever  dropping  the  balm  of  consolation 
into  the  distracted  breast.  Oh,  what  a  privilege  to 
have  such  a  friend — such  a  sure  and  steadfast  friend 
— such  a  wise  and  omnipotent  friend.  And  he  is  my 
friend  ?  Yes  ;  he  is  '  tlte  sirmer's  Feiexd,'  and  there- 
fore mine :  for  surely  nothing  but  wondrous  love 
could  have  led  him  to  die  a  cruel  and  ignominious 
death  for  me,  polluted  as  I  am.  0  Jesus,  thou  art  my 
friend  and  I  will  be  thy  friend ;  thou  didst  love  me 
fu"st  and  I  do  love  thee,  but  not  as  fervently  as  I 
should,  nor  so  much  as  I  desire.  0  God,  give  me 
more  of  thy  Holy  Spirit ;  may  it  consume  every  unhal- 
lowed passion,  tear  every  idol  from  my  heart,  and  con- 
secrate that  heart  entirely  to  thee." 

The  only  journal  notes  of  considerable  length  which 
Miss  Johnson  seems  to  have  made  were  for  the  years 
1852    and    1853.     Those    for    1855   and   18G0   were 


24  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

entered,  in  a  "  daily  miniature  diary."  We  find  none 
for  other  years,  tlaough  she  always  kept  her  pen  and 
pencil  busy  in  some  way  as  long  as  she  had  strength 
to  write.  The  diary  for  1855  is  in  rhyme — usually 
six  lines  being  allotted  to  each  day.  While  some  of 
the  verses  are  playful  and  witty,  most  of  them  are 
religious  and  plaintive.  The  following  are  given  as 
specimens : 

"  Arose  at  six  o'clock  today:  . 
How  swift  the  moments  sped  away 

Engaged  in  liousehold  duties ; 
Tlien  Virgil  claimed  awhile  my  care, 
And  Pope  of  time  a  larger  share, 

With  all  his  sweets  and  beauties." 

"  Ml".  Goodenough  and  wife 

Came  here  yesterday; 
Through  the  changing  scenes  of  life 

Onward  be  their  way; 
And  never  may  their  jiath  be  rough 
So  long  as  they  are  Good-enough." 

*'  Received  of  Robinson  to-day 
For  my  '  Address  '  a  little  pay: 
The  first  of  cash  I  ever  had 
For  writing  verses,  good  or  bad. 
O  Lord,  whate'er  my  gains  may  be 
The  tenth  I  dedicate  to  thee." 

"  I  would  not  seek  the  haunts  of  mirth, 
For  in  the  gayest  scenes  of  earth 

Are  hovering  grief  and  care; 
But  oft  I  find  a  soothing  jiower, 
At  twilight's  calm  and  peaceful  hour, 

In  secret  prayer." 

"  Jesus,  oh,  iwecious  name! 
How  sweet  it  sounds  to  me; 
Come  want,  come  grief,  come  death  or  shame 
I'll  cling,  my  Lord,  to  thee." 


LII-'E-SKETCH.  25 

*'  I'd  rather  be  distressed  with  doubts 

And  find  no  sweet  release, 
Than  be  content  to  settle  down 

In  false  repose  and  peace; 
But.  ah !  I  wish  I  knew  my  name 
In  the  Lamb's  booli  a  place  could  claim." 

"  Wliile  here  distressed  I  lie, 

What  joy  my  heart  doth  thrill 
At  the  enchanting  thought, 
That  Jesus  loves  me  still!" 

"  Sweet  Sabbath  morn!  to  me  it  brings, 
As  if  on  angel's  airy  wings, 

Visions  of  peace  and  rest : 
I  seem  to  stand  upon  the  plains 
Where  an  etei'ual  Sabbath  reigns, 

And  dwell  the  pure  and  blest. 

I  wept — when  lo,  my  heart  to  cheer 

J sobbing  whispered  in  my  ear: 

'  Dont  cry,  for  I  will  serve  tlie  Lord  ;' 
How  sweet  the  sound!  what  great  i-oward." 

[Psa.  126  :  5,  6]. 

"  How  little  comfort  have  I  known 

In  this  dark  vale  of  tears ! 
For  Sorrow  marked  )iie  for  her  own 

In  childliood's  early  years, 
And  ever  since,  by  night  and  day. 
Has  hovered  round  my  lonely  way." 

"  'Twas  nearly  two — but  sleep  had  fled 
My  pillow  for  the  niglit; 
I  rose — but  all  was  dai'k  around, 

And  I  could  tind  no  light: 
And  then  I  knelt  and  prayed  for  those 
Who,  like  me,  found  no  sweet  repose." 

"  Sick,  siclf,  sick. 

And  gloomy  all  the  day; 
Sick,  sick,  sick. 

Thus  life  wears  away." 


26  CANADIAN    AVILD    FLOWERS. 

"  Murmur  not,  my  troubled  soul, 
At  thy  Father's  dealings; 
Wild  the  billows  round  thee  roll: 

Yield  not  to  the  feelings 
Of  despair  that  gather  round: 
Troubles  rise  not  from  the  ground." 

[Job  5  : 6-8]. 

"  How  many  souls  around  the  throne 

Once  suffered  here  like  me, — 
Like  me  discouraged,  tempted,  tried. 

But  now  for  ever  free : 
They  shout  their  griefs  and  trials  o'er; 
Then  let  me  fear  and  doubt  no  more." 

"  At  home  all  day;  I  cannot  pray, 
Can  neither  read  nor  think: 
O  God,  I  cry;  the  waves  roll  high, 
Support  me  or  I  sink." 

"  Did  I  murmur  that  tlie  rod 
Was  so  heavy,  O  my  G-od? 
I  forgot  the  cursed  tree, 
I  forgot  Gethsemane, 
I  forgot  the  grief  and  pain — 
May  I  ne'er  forget  again." 

*'  Unworthy,  wretclied  as  I  am 
I  liope  for  mercy  througli  tlae  Lamb: 
His  name,  his  glorious  name  prevails 
When  every  other  passport  fails; 
It  opens  Heaven's  eternal  gate; 
Then,  doubting  soul,  wliy  longer  wait?  " 

*'  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  comes; 

When  will  dawn  the  endless  day? 
Swiftly  roll  the  wheels  of  time, 

Swiftly  pass  the  hours  away; 
Brighter  and  brighter  from  afar 
Yiew  we  now  '  the  Morning  Star.'  " 

"  And  we,  alas!  are  called  to  part: 
*  Farewell  '  is  said,  with  aching  heart; 
But  God  will  watch  o'er  thee  [  ween, 


•  LIFE-SKETCH.  27 

And  guide  thee  through  each  trying  scene, 
My  dearest  sister  Josephine!  " 

"  The  glorious  sun 

His  race  has  run, 
And  sweetly  sought  repose: 

O  tliat  for  me 

This  life  might  be 
As  bright — as  calm  its  close!  " 

"  What  an  awful  peal  of  thunder  I 
O  my  soul,  be  still  and  wonder; 
Yet  another,  and  another — 
Each  one  louder  than  the  other; 
God  of  heaven,  I  see  thy  power, 
May  I  feel  it  hour  by  hour." 

"  A  thousand  twinkling  stars  to-night 
Look  down  with  soft  and  silvery  light 
And  tell  the  majesty  divine 
Of  Him  who  gives  them  leave  to  shine. 
Oh,  what  an  atom  must  I  be, 
And  yet  He  loves  and  cares  forme!" 

'*  The  wheels  of  Time — how  swift  they  roll! 
Dost  tliou  consider,  O  my  soul. 
That  it  shall  soon  be  said  to  thee: 
'  Time  was,  Ijut  time  no  more  shall  be  '  ? 
Then  seize  upon  the  present  hour; 
Improve  it  to  thy  utmost  power." 

In  the  fall  of  1856  Miss  Johnson  was  prostrated 
by  disease,  and  nearly  all  the  time  afterwards  con- 
fined to  the  house.  So  numerous  and  complicated 
were  her  difficulties  as  to  baffle  the  skill  of  all  the 
physicians  who  saw  her,  and  no  one  knows  the  amount 
of  suffering  she  endured.  Her  mind  however  was 
active  and  vigorous,  and  though  there  were  seasons — 
sometimes  quite  protracted — when  to  her  the  heavens 
above  seemed  as  brass  and  the  earth  iron,  yet  God  did 


28  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEES. 

not  forsake  lier :  the  sunshine  succeeded  the  storm, 
and  the  peace  that  Jesus  gives  was  poured  into  her 
wounded  heart.  Eeferring  to  her  afflictions  in  1858 
and  the  two  following  years  she  writes  : — 

"  Those  were  days  and  nights  of  anguish,  but  I  now 
look  back  to  them  with  feelings  of  regret,  for  my  feet 
had  only  touched  the  dark  Avaters  and  my  lips  had 
only  tasted  the  cup  from  which  I  was  to  drink  the 
very  dregs.  Early  in  the  spring  of  1858  I  was  seized 
with  fever  and  acute  inflammation  of  the  stomach, 
which  brought  me  to  the  verge  of  the  grave.  I  could 
feel  the  warm  tears  of  beloved  ones  upon  my  cheeks, 
as  they  bent  tenderly  over  me  ;  I  could  see  the  dark 
vale  just  ahead  (though  there  was  a  light  amid  the 
darkness),  but  my  sufferings  were  not  to  be  so  soon 
terminated.  Gradually  my  disease  assumed  a  chronic 
form,  and  physicians  said  there  was  no  hope.  The  lit- 
tle nourishment  I  could  take  distressed  me  so  terribly 
that  the  very  thought  of  eating  made  me  shudder,  and 
my  stomach  became  so  sore  that  I  could  not  be  moved 
from  one  side  of  the  bed  to  the  other  without  utter- 
ing a  cry  of  pain.  Winter,  spring,  summer  and 
autumn  in  turn  visited  the  earth,  and  with  each  I 
thought,  aye,  longed  to  depart ;  but  the  great  Kefiner 
had  his  own  purpose  to  accom2:)lish, — there  was  a  lit- 
tle fine  gold  but  the  dross  rendered  it  useless.  The 
ordeal  through  which  I  am  passing  is  indeed  a  terri- 
ble one,  but  I  know  where  peace  and  consolation  are 
to  be  found,  and  there  are  times  when  I  can  say  in 
sincerity,  '  Thy  will  be  done.'  " 

Thursday,  Jan.  1,  1863,  she  wrote  : — 

"Bright,  beautiful  da}^  Many  people  on  the  ice. 
Edwin  [her  brother]  there.  Over  our  dwelling  is  a 
shadow ;    it  falls  upon  our  spirits  and  we  are  sad. 


LIFE-SKETCH.  29 

Will  it  never  be  removed  ?  God  grant  we  may  be 
patient  and  grateful  for  the  blessings  we  do  enjoy, 
for  are  not  friends — true,  tender  friends,  tbe  greatest 
and  holiest  of  blessings  ?  and  while  we  have  them 
God  forgive  us  for  murmuring  at  his  dealings." 

The  last  entries  in  her  diary  are  :  "  Feb.  2.     Very 

sick  "  ;  "  Tuesday,  3rd.     No  better."     It  is  uncertain 

when  the  following  lines  were  written,  but  it  might 

have  been  about  this  time  : — 

"  I'm  going  home  to  that  bright  land  of  rest 
Where  pain  and  grief  and  sickness  are  unknown; 
The  j^ear  begins  in  sorrow,  but  will  close 
In  joys  that  never  end — I"m  going  home! 
Last  year  the  warning  came  on  sunken  eye 
And  wasted  cheek.     I  gazed  and  thought  to  spend 
My  Christmas  with  the  angels.     God  knows  best; 
And  here  I  linger,  weary  sufferer  still. 
The  morning  comes  long  watched-for,  long  desired; 
The  day  drags  on,  and  then  the  sleepless  night: 
But  this  will  have  an  end — it  must  be  soon." 

About  six  weeks  before  her  death  she  was  taken 
with  nausea  and  vomiting :  everything  she  took  dis- 
tressed her,  and  for  the  last  twenty-three  days  she 
took  no  nourishment  save  what  water  contains.  Her 
prayer — 

"  Close  to  the  Cross,  close  to  the  Cross,  God  grant  I  may  be 

found 
When  death  shall  call  my  spirit  hence,  or  the  last  trumpet 

sound," — 

was  indeed  answered.  Her  end  was  very  peaceful 
and  happy.  For  several  weeks  not  a  cloud  seemed  to 
pass  over  her  mind ;  and  though  often  in  great  dis- 
tress there  was  no  impatience  manifested,  nor  did  a 
murmur  escape  her  lips.     She  said,  "  It  is  nothing  to 


30  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

die  :  '  the  sting  of  cleatli  is  sin/  and  wlien  sin  is  taken 
away  the  sting  is  gone."  On  another  occasion  she 
remarked :    "  I  have  often  heard  the  words  sung — 

'  Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 
Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are ' — 

and  thought  they  were  not  strictly  true ;  but  now 
I  know  that  they  are  perfectly,  'perfectly  so."  Once 
as  we  stood  by  her  bedside  she  observed  her  moth- 
er and  sister  weeping,  and  with  a  countenance  beam- 
ing with  joy  (sufficient  to  remind  us  of  1  Pet.  1  :  8) 
she  expressed  surprise,  remarking :  "  It  seems  to 
me  I  am  only  crossing  a  narrow  brook,  and  as  I 
look  back  I  see  you  all  coming — we  shall  soon  meet," 
Her  view  of  her  own  weakness  and  sinfulness  was 
indeed  clear,  but  she  had  such  unwavering  faith  in 
her  Eedeemer  as  enabled  her  to  say  :  "  Dying  seems 
to  me  like  laying  the  head  back  and  closing  the  eyes, 
just  to  open  them  in  a  few  moments  on  the  joys  of 
paradise."  The  following  lines,  written  with  a  pencil 
on  the  cover  and  blank  leaf  of  her  French  Testament, 
were  the  last  she  ever  wrote.  They  are  dated  March 
3 — ^just  ten  days  before  her  death — -and  give  indubita- 
ble evidence  of  the  clearness  of  her  intellect  and 
the  strength  of  her  faith  while  passing  through  "  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  "  : — 

"  Jesus,  I  know  thou  art  the  living  Word! 
Each  blessed  promise  to  myself  I  take; 
I  would  not  doubt,  if  I  had  only  heard 
This — this  alone,  '  /  never  will  forsake! ' 

I  have  no  fear — the  sting  of  death  is  sin, 
And  Christ  removed  it  when  he  died  for  me : 


LIFE-SKETCH.  31 

Washed  in  bis  blood,  my  robe  without,  within, 
Has  not  a  stain  tliat  God  himself  can  see. 

Wrapped  in  the  Saviour's  arms  I  sweetly  lie; 

Far,  far  behind  I  hear  the  breakers  roar; 
I  have  been  dying — but  I  cease  to  die, 

My  rest  begins — rejoice  forevermore!  " 

Having  expressed  a  wish  to  be  visited  by  all  her 
acquaintances,  many  called  to  see  her,  with  whom  she 
conversed  freely  on  the  interests  of  their  soul.  With 
great  composure  she  made  arrangements  for  her 
departure — leaving  books  and  other  articles  to  her 
intimate  friends.  One  day  she  made  a  request  that 
I  should  preach  her  funeral  sermon.  For  a  moment 
I  hesitated  because  of  relationship  (liaving  married 
her  sister  Josephine),  then  remarked,  that  I  supposed 
there  would  be  no  impropriety  in  doing  so,  as  I  recol- 
lected that  Whitefield  preached  his  wife's,  to  which 
she  immediately  added,  "And  Wesley  preached  his 
mother's."  On  asking  if  she  had  thought  of  any  pas- 
sage to  be  used  as  a  text,  she  replied :  "  I  first  thought 
of  the  words,  '  I  shall  be  satisfied,  when  I  awake,  with 
thy  likeness ' ;  but  you  know  that  is  all  about  /,  and 
now  I  feel  that  Christ  is  all — it  is  all  Christ :  so  I  have 
thought  of  his  words  in  the  11th  of  John,  '  I  am  the 
Eesurrection  and  the  Life.'  "  She  also  suggested  to 
her  sister  that  the  following  hymns  (which  were 
favorites  with  her)  should  be  used  on  the  occasion : 

"  Come  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs 
With  angels  round  the  throne;" 

"  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand 
And  cast  a  wishful  ej'e," — 


32  CAXADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

"  Joyfully,  joyfully,  onward  I  move, 
Bound  for  the  land  of  bright  glory  and  love." 

The  joyous  character  of  the  hymns  will  at  once  be 
noted  ;  and  this  was  the  very  reason  why  she  selected 
them  :  she  considered  that  they  would  be  more  expres- 
sive of  her  condition  than  the  mournful  ones  which 
are  so  frequently  used  at  funerals.  Two  of  her  poems 
seem  so  appropriate  here  that  we  insert  them.  The 
former  was  written  in  June,  1859,  and  the  latter 
bears  date  "  Nov.  30,  1861 "  :— 

THE   OXE   NAME. — ACTS  4  ."  12. 

"  Wlien  round  my  dying  bed  ye  stand, 
And  kiss  my  cheek  and  clasp  my  hand, 
Oh,  whisper  iu  my  failing  ear 
The  only  JSTame  I  care  to  hear, — 
The  only  Name  that  has  the  power 
To  comfort  in  the  dying  hour. 

"  Let  neither  sob  nor  sigh  be  heard. 
But  still  repeat  that  sacred  word, — 
Until  the  solace  it  imparts 
Descends  like  balm  upon  your  hearts, 
And  I  in  triumph  gladly  sing: 
* O  dreaded  Death,  where  is  thy  sting?' 

"  And  when  released  from  sin  and  clay 
My  happy  spirit  soars  away, 
And  pauses  at  the  heavenly  gate. 
Where  saints  and  smiling  angels  wait, 
And  views  the  city  bright  and  fair, — 
That  Name  shall  be  my  passport  there! 

"  Oh  then,  in  calm  and  holy  trust. 
Give  my  poor  body  to  the  dust — 
Assured  that  God  will  guard  the  clay 
Until  the  liesurrection  Day, 
When  he  on  whom  my  soul  relies 
In  thunder  tones  will  bid  me  rise. 


LIFE-SKETCH.  33 

"  Amid  the  earth-devouring  storm, 
Made  lilce  my  Saviour's  glorious  form, 
Iledeemed  from  sickness,  deatli,  and  pain, 
I  sliall  awake  to  life  again; 
And  soul  and  body  both  shall  be 
With  Clirist  throughout  eternity." 

TUE   ADIEU. 

"  You  will  miss  me  when  I  am  gone — 
At  morning,  at  night,  and  noon: 
I  have  needed  your  arm  to  lean  uj)on, 
I  shall  need  it  no  longer  soon. 

"  I've  been  helpless  for  many  years, 
'  No  burden  '  you  always  said; — 
I  have  claimed  your  pity,  your  prayers  and  tears 
You  will  miss  me  when  I  am  dead. 

"  How  many  a  dreary  night 

You  have  watched  by  my  couch  of  pain, 
Till  the  streaming  in  of  morning  light — 
You  will  never  watch  again. 

*'  God  taketh  not  all  away 

The  bitter  and  sweet  he  blends, 
And  I  bless  his  name  by  night  and  day 
That  he  has  not  denied  me  friends. 

"You  have  shared  the  heavy  load, 

Which  alone  I  could  not  have  borne; 
I  am  going  now  to  a  bright  abode, 
But  I  leave  you,  alas !  to  mourn. 

"  You  will  miss  me  when  I  am  gone. 
As  you  never  have  missed  before ! 
I  have  needed  your  arm  to  lean  upon 
But  soon  I  shall  need  it  no  more. 

"  I  lean  on  my  Saviour's  breast 
In  this  hour  of  moi-tal  pain; 
Oh,  strong  are  His  arms!  and  sweet  my  rest! 
Farewell!  till  we  meet  again." 

The  exiDected  hour  though  long  of  coming  arrived 
at  last.     As  long  as  she  seemed  to  realize  what  was 


34  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

transpii'ing  around  lier,  and  when  too  weak  to  con- 
verse, slie  would  signify  by  a  word  or  motion  that  she 
had  peace  and  all  was  well.  About  a  quarter  past  11 
o'clock  Friday  night,  March  13,  1863,  "the  silver 
cord  was  loosed,"  and  she  sweetly  fell  asleep  in  Jesus, 
aged  twenty-eight  years,  four  months,  and  sixteen 
days.  On  the  Tuesday  following  we  buried  her  from 
the  village  church,  where  ten  years  before  she  had 
decided  to  come  out  openly  on  the  Lord's  side.  It 
was  crowded.  Three  ministers,  from  as  many  differ- 
ent denominations,  assisted  me  in  the  services.  Her 
mother  and  sister  (the  wife  of  Dr.  G.  0.  Somers)  were 
too  feeble  to  attend.  But  we  hope  soon  to  greet  her 
where — ^to  use  her  own  words, 

"  Earthly  love  is  like  the  starlight  lost 
In  glorious  sunshine,  and  the  things  of  time 
Shrink  into  nothing:  even  death  itself 
Fades  like  a  shadow  in  the  noontide  blaze, 
And  life— new,  glorious,  everlasting  life — 
Expands  the  soul,  and  all  it  ever  dreamed 
Of  heavenly  bliss  becomes  reality." 

Above  the  stillness  of  death  we  hear  the  words  of 
inspiration  :  "  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the 
death  of  his  saints"  ;  "Thy  dead  shall  live  again"  ; 
and  in  hope  we  wait.  The  weary  pilgrim  has  reached 
her  resting-place.  She  lies  in  the  chamber  of  Peace, 
whose  windows  open  toward  the  sunrising. 


Thou  King  of  kings,  Almighty  One  ! 

bend  uiito  me  the  ear 
That  listens  to  the  music 

of  every  rolling  sphere, 
And  guide,  oh  guide  my  feeble  hand 

to  strike  my  shmibering  lyre 
To  strains  harmonious  and  divine, 

and  every  thought  inspire. 

—Poems,  p.  9. 


gwral  ^(tm^» 


THE  WALK  IN  JUNE. 

A  walk  in  June,  in  early  June, 

Our  sweet  Canadian  June — 
"When  every  tree  is  all  in  leaf, 

And  every  bird  in  tune  ; 
When  laughing  rills  leap  down  the  hills 

And  through  the  meadows  play, 
Inviting  to  their  verdant  banks 

The  old,  the  young,  the  gay. 

When  not  a  cloud  is  in  the  sky, 

Nor  shadow  on  the  lake 
Save  what  the  trees  that  line  the  shore 

And  little  islands  make, — 
When  every  nook  where'er  we  look, 

Is  bright  with  dewy  flowers, 
And  violets  are  thickly  strewn 

As  though  they  fell  in  showers. 

How  sweetly  on  the  balmy  air 

The  children's  voices  ring  ! 
And  even  I  renew  my  youth 

With  each  returning  spring. 
Oh,  we  may  keep  a  fresh  young  heart 

Though  outward  beauty  fade, 
If  we  but  cherish  there  a  love 

For  all  that  God  has  made. 

I  do  not  call  a  haj)py  man 
The  man  that's  rich  or  great ; 


38  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEIIS. 

Nor  him  who  stands  with  folded  hands 
And  says,  "  It  is  my  fate  ! " 

But  he  is  blest  who  cheerfully 
Endures  or  does  his  part, 

And  looks  on  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky 
With  an  adoring  heart. 

He  wanders  by  the  pebbly  beach 

And  by  the  summer  brook, 
And  thoughtfully  he  turns  the  leaves 

Of  Nature's  blessed  book. 
In  forest  shade,  on  hill,  in  vale, 

Where'er  he  walks  abroad, 
There  goes  an  humble  worshipper — 

A  lover  of  his  God. 

The  cares  that  trouble  other  men 

For  him  have  little  weight ; 
He  values  glory  at  its  worth. 

Nor  cringes  to  the  great. 
His  simple  pleasures  never  fail, 

Nor  make  his  nature  cold, — 
And  though  the  years  may  come  and  go, 

He  never  can  be  old. 

You  call  the  picture  overdrawn — 

But  such  a  man  I  know ; 
Whose  presence,  like  the  morning  sun, 

Dispels  each  cloud  of  woe. 
And  trustingly  I  cling  to  him 

As  only  true  love  can, — 
My  comforter,  protector,  guide, — 

My  love,  thou  art  the  man  ! 

And  you  are  teaching  me  to  look 
On  nature  with  your  eyes  ; 


KUKAL    SCENES. 

The  pleasant  change  within  my  heart 

Each  day  I  realize. 
The  world  is  brighter  now  to  me, 

A  holier  thing  is  life 
Than  even  on  that  happy  day  ^ 

When  first  you  called  me  wife. 

The  trifles  that  perplexed  me  then 

Now  leave  my  spirit  calm, — 
And  for  the  deeper  woes  of  life 

I  have  a  healing  balm. 
I  see  the  hand  of  God  in  all, 

I  know  that  he  is  just ; 
And  where  I  cannot  understand 

I've  learned  to  wait  and  trust. 

Oh,  I  remember  well  the  day — 

'Twas  in  the  month  of  June, 
When  every  tree  was  all  in  leaf, 

And  every  bird  in  tune, — 
We  walked  together,  arm  in  arm. 

As  we  are  walking  now. 
But  I  was  young,  and  Time  had  left 

No  traces  on  your  brow. 

I  listened  with  a  strange  delight 

To  every  word  you  said. 
And  then  to  hide  the  burning  tears 

I  turned  away  my  head. 
I  dared  not  trifle  with  your  love. 

Though  till  that  magic  hour 
I  had  not  cared  for  aching  hearts 

If  they  but  owned  my  power. 

I  never  felt  so  vile  before — 
So  humbled  in  mine  eyes  ; 


39 


40  CANADIAiN^    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

I  wondered  what  you  saw  to  love  : 
I  thought  you  must  despise. 

For  I  was  gay,  and  you  were  grave, 
And  I  was  vain  and  proud  : 

You  loved  the  meadow  and  the  grove, 
And  I  the  laughing  crowd. 

I  told  you  frankly  of  my  faults. 

You  would  not  hear  me  through  ; 
You  said  you  were  an  erring  man. 

And  earthly  angels  few. 
But  would  I  show  my  better  side  ? 

And  would  I  deign  to  bless  ? 
You  held  my  hand — what  could  I  do  ? 

And  so  I  answered,  "  Yes." 

Do  I  regret  it  ?     Nay,  my  love. 

For  were  I  free  as  then 
The  man  I  chose  I  still  would  choose 

Before  all  other  men. 
And  I  would  say.  For  life  or  death. 

For  hai^piness  or  woe. 
Where'er  you  dwell  there  I  will  dwell, 

Where'er  you  go,  I  go. 

That  wa,s  a  day,  and  that  a  walk 

To  be  remembered  long : 
It  changed  the  current  of  my  life, 

And  made  each  thought  a  song. 
There  was  a  glory  in  the  sky, 

A  glory  on  the  trees, 
And  the  perfumes  of  Paradise 

Were  jjoured  on  every  breeze. 

I  scarcely  seemed  to  walk  the  earth, 
My  spirit  was  so  light ; 


BUKAL    SCENES.  41 

'Twas  easy  then  to  shun  the  wrong, 

So  easy  to  do  right. 
New  hopes  began  to  bud  and  bloom 

Like  blossoms  in  the  spring, — 
My  heart  o'erflowed  with  tenderness 

For  every  living  thing. 

I  was  no  more  the  thoughtless  girl 

By  idle  fancy  led ; 
Life  seemed  to  me  reality, 

And  yet  I  did  not  dread 
To  walk  along  its  roughest  path : 

I  should  not  walk  alone, — 
Another  and  a  better  life 

Was  blended  with  mine  own. 

One  blessing  more,  and  then  you  said 

Our  joy  would  be  complete  ; 
Your  prayer  was  answered  when  I  sat 

At  the  Redeemer's  feet. 
And  deeper,  holier  grew  our  love, — 

Our  union  was  to  be 
Not  only  for  a  lifetime  here. 

But  for  eternity. 

Thus  peacefully  we  joassed  along 

Till  that  eventful  day 
When  all  the  labor  of  our  hands 

Like  chaff  was  swej^t  away  : 
We  saw  our  home  made  desolate. 

Our  pleasant  cottage  sold ; 
Men  called  us  poor,  but  we  were  rich 

In  better  things  than  gold. 

!For  we  had  lived  an  honest  life  ; 
We  could  look  up  and  say  : 


42  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

We  never  wronged  a  fellow-man, 
Nor  turned  the  poor  away. 

We  held  a  treasure  in  our  arms 
Which  every  care  beguiled ; 

He  never  sorroAved,  never  sinned — 
For  Jesus  took  the  child. 

There  is  a  little  mound  of  earth 

Where,  when  the  spring  appears, 
We  watch  the  budding  violets, 

And  water  them  with  tears. 
Oh,  it  were  more  than  earthly  love 

That  soothed  a  parent's  woe 
When  there  we  laid  our  darling  down, 

Full  twenty  years  ago  ! 

Sometimes  my  heart  grows  sad  and  sick 

When  to  the  past  I  turn, 
And  for  a  sweet  and  gentle  voice 

To  call  me  mother  yearn. 
I  see  the  silver  in  my  hair. 

The  lines  upon  your  brow, — 
And  oh,  I  wish  our  boy  had  lived 

To  be  our  comfort  now  ! 

One  moment — then  the  wish  is  o'er  : 

The  sun  begins  to  shine  ; 
I  lift  my  h^art  in  thankfulness, 

And  say,  "  Thy  will  is  mine." 
'Tis  true,  of  poverty  and  pain 

We  both  have  had  our  share. 
But  do  you  think  in  all  the  world 

There  is  a  happier  pair  ? 

I  know  the  harvest-time  is  near, — 
I  know  the  Eeaper  stands 


RUilAL    SCEXES.  43 

Before  us,  and  I  tremble  much 

Lest  he  unlock  our  hands. 
But  God  will  be  our  strength  and  shield, 

Our  refuge  in  that  hour  ; 
And  he  will  join  our  hands  again 

Beyond  the  Keaper's  power. 

Now  let  me  wipe  away  those  tears  ; 

Forget  my  gloomy  talk, 
And  with  your  own  improve  the  scene 

And  sanctify  our  walk : 
So  that  with  Natui-e's  melody 

Our  hearts  may  be  in  tune, 
And  send  up  incense  like  the  flowers 

This  pleasant  day  in  June  ! 


AN  EVENING  MEDITATION. 

How  softly  yonder  pale  star  beams  above  my  head 
to-night !  How  beautiful  it  appears  in  the  azure  vault 
of  heaven  where  twilight  holds  the  connecting  link 
between  day  and  night.  Oh,  if  my  soul  were  freed 
from  its  clayey  fetters  how  swiftly  it  would  fly  (if 
such  a  journey  were  possible)  to  the  boundaries  of 
that  sweet  star  !  Can  that  fair  planet,  seemingly  so 
pure  and  spotless,  be  inhabited  by  beings  as  frail  and 
erring  as  ourselves  ?  Can  there  be  any  sad  souls 
there  to-night — any  who  are  weeping  over  blighted 
hopes  and  blasted  prospects  ?  It  may  be  so ;  and  yet 
perchance  such  a  thing  as  a  pang  of  sorrow  and  a 
burning  tear  are  unknown,  for  it  may  be  sin  has  never 
entered  there.     Vain,  useless  conjectures  !    But  will 


44  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

tlie  veil  which  hides  the  scenes  of  other  worlds  from 
our  eyes  never  be  withdraAvu  ?  .  .  .  .  Surely  it  is 
because  God  is  merciful  that  I  have  been  sj^ared 
through  another  day.  I  cannot  forbear  wondering 
that  I  have  been  sjDared  so  long, — that  I  have  not 
been  cut  down  as  a  cumberer  of  the  ground.  0  God, 
according  to  thy  loving-kindness  preserve  me.  Grant 
that  I  may  yet  be  an  humble  instrument  in  thy  hand 
of  doing  something  for  the  good  of  thy  cause.  For- 
give my  numberless  sins  and  at  last  receive  me  to 
g\ovj.—July  20,  1852. 

It  is  a  lovely  scene ;  the  sun  has  set, 

But  left  his  glory  in  the  western  sky 
Where  daylight  lingers,  half  regretful  yet 

That  sombre  Night,  her  sister,  draAveth  nigh, 

And  one  pale  star  just  looketh  from  on  high  ; 
'Tis  neither  day  nor  night,  but  both  have  blent 

l^heir  own  peculiar  charms  to  please  the  eye, — 
Declining  day  its  sultry  heat  has  spent. 
And  calm,  refreshing  night  its  grateful  coolness  lent. 

The  lake  is  sleeping — on  its  quiet  breast 
Are  clouds  of  every  tint  the  rainbows  wear, 

Some  are  in  crimson,  some  in  gold  are  dressed. 
Oh,  had  I  wings,  like  yonder  birds  of  air, 
How  I  would  love  to  dip  my  pinions  there. 

Then  mount  exulting  to  the  heavenly  gate, — 
A  song  of  love  and  gratitude  to  bear 

To  Him  who  gives  the  lowly  and  the  great. 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky,  so  glorious  an  estate. 

It  is  the  time  when  angels  are  abroad 

Upon  their  work  of  love  and  peace  to  men, — 


KUEAL    SCENES.  45 

Commissioned  from  the  dazzling  throne  of  God, 
They  come  to  earth  as  joyfully  as  when 
The  tidings  ran  o'er  mountain  and  o'er  glen, 

"  A  son  is  born,  a  Saviour  and  a  King," — 
For  they  have  tidings  glorious  as  then. 

Since  tokens  from  our  risen  Lord  they  bring. 

That  life  has  been  secured,  and  death  has  lost  its  sting. 

The  twilight  deepens  ;  o'er  the  distant  hill 

A  veil  is  spread  of  soft  and  misty  grey ; 
And  from  the  lake,  so  beautiful  and  still. 

The  images  of  sunset  fade  away  ; 

The  twinkling  stars  come  forth  in  bright  array, 
Which  shunned  the  splendor  of  the  noontide  glare, — 

A  holy  calm  succeeds  the  bustling  day. 
And  gentle  voices  stealing  through  the  air, 
Proclaim  to  hearts  subdued  the  hour  of  grateful  prayer. 


NATURE'S  RESURRECTION. 

Hark !  it  is  the  robin  crying. 

He  has  heard  the  voice  of  Spring ; 

From  the  woods  the  crow  is  flying. 
And  the  jay  is  on  the  wing. 

Slowly  now  the  sun  is  ranging 
Each  day  nearer  to  the  west ; 

All  things  tell  the  year  is  changing, 
Nature  wakens  from  her  rest. 

Lower  sink  the  snow-drifts  daily, 
Half  the  pasture  lands  are  bare  ; 

And  the  little  streams  leap  gayly 
From  their  chains  to  breathe  the  air. 


46  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEKS. 

While  the  barren  earth  rejoices, 
Care-worn  mortal,  come  away, — 

Listen  to  the  pleasant  voices 
Of  the  resurrection  day. 

Dost  thou  understand  the  token  ? 

Nature  should  not  teach  in  vain 
What  its  gracious  Lord  hath  spoken- 

That  the  dead  shall  live  again  ! 


THE  BIRD'S  NEST. 

Two  robins  came  in  early  Spring, — 
When  Winter's  reign  was  o'er  ; 

And  every  morn  I  heard  them  sing 
Just  by  our  cottage  door. 

They  built  their  nest  of  moss  and  hay 

Within  a  maple  tree, — 
And  thither  every  pleasant  day, 

I  went  to  hear  and  see. 

At  first  whene'er  I  came  they  flew, 

Or  eyed  me  in  alarm ; 
But  soon  my  step  familiar  grew, 

I  never  did  them  harm. 

One  day  a  louder  song  I  heard. 
With  eager  cries  for  food ; 

And  then  I  helped  the  mother-bird 
To  still  her  hungry  brood. 

I  always  seemed  a  welcome  guest ; 
Both  old  and  young  I  fed. 


EUliAL    SCENES.  47 

Then  settling  down  beneath  the  nest, 
Some  pleasant  book  I  read. 

I  watched  them  fondly  day  by  day, 
Until  their  wings  were  gro^vn ; 

When  suddenly  they  flew  away, 
And  left  me  all  alone. 

The  bitter  tears  began  to  start, 

And  full  of  sad  regret 
I  wondered  in  my  simple  heart, 

If  birds  could  thus  forget ! 

Ah  !   many  summers  have  returned, 

And  many  changes  Avrought, 
Since  I  the  mournful  lesson  learned, 

In  early  childhood  taught. 

And  many  hopes  have  taken  wings 

On  which  my  heart  was  set, — 
And  I  have  found  that  onany  tilings 

As  well  as  birds  forget  / 


GATHER  VIOLETS. 

Gather  violets  white  and  blue. 

Where  the  southern  zephyrs  play ; 

Bring  them  sparkling  with  the  dew, — 
With  the  blessed  dew  of  May. 

Let  me  fold  them  to  my  breast,^ 
Emblems  sweet  of  earthly  bliss  ; 

Ha  !  they  love  to  be  caressed, 
For  they  give  me  kiss  for  kiss. 


48  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

How  my  weary  heart  doth  yearn, 
Touched  as  by  a  hand  Divine, 

While  their  soft  bkie  eyes  they  turn 
Full  of  sympathy  to  mine  ! 

Do  they  know  how  much  I  sigh 

For  the  meadows  where  they  grew  ? 

For  the  forest  and  the  sky, 

Where  they  caught  their  azure  hue  ? 

There  is  One  who  knows  it  all, — 
To  his  loving  arms  I  flee : 

Oh,  he  hears  my  feeblest  call, 
And  I  know  he  pities  me. 

He  ere  long  will  take  my  hand 
Saying  tenderly,  "  Arise  ! " 

He  will  lead  me  to  the  land 
Where  no  blossom  ever  dies. 


TO  A  DANDELION. 

Blessings  on  thy  sunny  face. 
In  my  heart  thou  hast  a  place. 

Humble  Dandelion ! 
Forms  more  lovely  are  around  thee, 
Purple  violets  surround  thee, — 
But  I  know  thy  honest  heart 
Never  felt  a  moment's  smart 
At  another's  good  or  beauty, — 
Ever  at  thy  post  of  duty, 
Smiling  on  the  great  and  small, 
Eich  and  poor,  and  wishing  aU 
Health,  and  happiness,  and  pleasure, 
Oh,  thou  art  a  golden  treasure  ! 


KUKAL    SCENES.  49 

I  remember  years  ago, 

How  I  longed  to  see  thee  blow, 

Humble  Dandelion  ! 
Through  the  meadows  I  would  Avander, 
O'er  the  verdant  pastures  yonder, 
Filliug  liands  and  tilling  lap, 
Till  the  teacher's  rap,  rap,  rap, 
Sounding  on  the  window  sash 
Dreadful  as  a  thunder  crash, 
Called  me  from  my  world  ideal 
To  a  world  how  sad  and  real, — • 
From  a  laughing  sky  and  brook 
To  a  dull  old  spelling-book  ; 
Then  with  treasures  hid  securely, 
To  my  seat  I  crept  demurely. 

Childhood's  careless  days  are  o'er, 
Happy  school  days  come  no  more. 

Humble  Dandelion ! 
Through  a  desert  I  am  walking, 
Hope  eluding,  pleasure  mocking, 
Every  earthly  fountain  dry, 
Yet  when  thou  didst  meet  mine  eye, 
Something  like  a  beam  of  gladness 
Did  illuminate  my  sadness, 
And  I  hail  thee  as  a  friend 
Come  a  holiday  to  spend 
By  the  couch  of  pain  and  anguish. 
Where  I  suffer,  moan  and  languish. 

When  at  length  I  sink  to  rest, 
And  the  turf  is  on  my  breast. 
Humble  Dandelion ! 
Wilt  thou  when  the  morning  breaketh. 
And  the  balmy  spring  awaketh. 
Bud  and  blossom  at  a  breath 


50  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

From  the  icy  arms  of  death, 
Wilt  thou  smile  vipon  my  tomb  ? 
Drawing  beauty  fj-om  the  gloom, 
Making  life  less  dark  and  weary, 
Making  death  itself  less  dreary. 
Whispering  in  a  gentle  tone 
To  the  mourner  sad  and  lone, 
Of  a  spring-time  when  the  sleeper 
Will  arise  to  bless  the  weeper  ? 


My  Father  made  this  beautiful  world  and  gave  me  a 
heart  to  love  his  works.  Oh,  may  I  love  Him  better 
than  all  created  things  ! 


The  little  plat  of  ground  aroujid  oux  house  is  a 
gxeat  field  of  instruction  and  amusement  to  me.  How 
little  do  I  comprehend  of  all  contained  within  it !  I 
am  glad  I  was  not  born  in  some  great  city — where 
Nature  had  not  been  so  kind  and  dear  a  friend. 


TO  A  ROBIN. 

Robin  Eed-breast  on  the  tree, 
Do  you  sing  that  song  for  me  ? 

"  You  are  listening  it  is  true, 
But  I  do  not  sing  for  you. 
Higher  yet  on  tiptoe  rise, 
Don't  you  see  a  pair  of  eyes 
Peeping  through  the  pleasant  shade 


RURAL    SCENES.  51 

Whicli  the  summer  leaves  have  made  ? 
There  they  watch  me  all  day  long, 
Brightening  at  my  cheerful  song, 
Turning  wheresoe'er  I  go 
For  the  evening  meal  below. 
Dearest  mate  that  ever  blest 
Happy  lover — peaceful  nest, — 
Guarding  well  our  eggs  of  blue, 
All  my  songs  I  sing  for  you ! " 


GOD  IS  THERE. 

When  the  howling  winds  are  high, 
And  the  vivid  liglitnings  fly 

Through  the  air ; — 
When  the  deafening  thunders  roll. 
Peace  to  thee,  0  troubled  soul — 

God  is  there ! 

When  the  dreary  storm  is  past. 
And  the  promised  bow  at  last — 

Bright  and  fair — 
In  the  cloudy  sky  apjoears. 
Smiling  still  through  Nature's  tears 

God  is  there ! 

When  the  tender  buds  unfold 
Bright  with  ])urple  and  with  gold 

In  the  air, — 
Or,  at  twilight  when  they  close 
Wrapped  awhile  in  sweet  repose 

God  is  there  ! 

Where  the  robin  chants  her  lay 
Sweetly  at  the  dawn  of  day, 


52  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Or  with  care 
Builds  her  soft  and  downy  nest, 
Lulls  her  little  brood  to  rest, 

God  is  there  ! 

When  the  countless  stars  appear, 
Ever  to  the  listening  ear 

They  declare  : 
He  who  sees  the  sparrows  fall 
Made  us  and  supports  us  all ; 

God  is  there ! 

When  the  youthful  knee  is  bent, 
And  to  heaven  is  humbly  sent 

Grateful  prayer, — 
Bending  from  his  throne  above 
Full  of  tenderness  and  love 

God  is  there  ! 

Though  his  arm  sustains  the  spheres 
'Tis  the  sweetest  sound  he  hears — 

Child-like  prayer ; 
Seek  then  oft  the  peaceful  shade  : 
There  our  Blessed  Saviour  prayed — 

God  is  there ! 


THE  CANADIAN  FARMER. 


How  beautiful  thou  art,  my  native  stream 

Art  thou  not  worthy  of  a  poet's  theme  ? 

The  Po  and  Tiber  live  in  ancient  lays, 

And  smaller  streams  have  had  their  meed  of  praise, 

Art  thou  less  lovely  ?     True,  in  classic  lore 

Thou  art  unknown,  and  on  thy  quiet  shore 

There  are  no  monuments  of  other  times. 


KUKAL    SCENES.  53 

No  records  of  the  past — its  woes  or  crimes. 
The  roar  of  cannon  and  the  clang  of  arms 
Have  never  shook  thy  bosom  with  alarms, 
And  never  has  thy  calm  and  peaceful  flood 
Been  stained  to  crimson  with  a  brother's  blood. 
The  sportsman's  rifle  only  hast  thou  heard 
Scaring  the  rabbit  and  the  timid  bird  ; 
Or  may  be  in  the  savage  days  of  yore 
The  wolf  and  bear  have  bled  upon  thy  shore. 
But  rural  peace  and  beauty  reign  to-night ; 
The  harvest  moon  illumes  with  holy  light 
Each  wave  that  ripples  in  its  onward  flow 
O'er  rock  concealed  amid  the  depths  below, 
And  gives  a  strange,  wild  beauty  to  the  scene 
On  either  shore,  where  trees  of  evergreen. 
Hemlocks  and  firs,  their  dusky  shadows  fling. 
Around  whose  trunks  the  heavy  mosses  cling, 
With  maples  clad  in  crimson,  gold  and  brown, 
Bright  like  the  west  when  first  the  sun  goes  down. 

Here  from  this  summit  where  I  often  roam 
I  can  behold  my  cot,  my  humble  home ; 
There  I  was  born,  and  when  this  life  is  o'er 
I  hope  to  sleep  upon  the  river's-  shore. 
There  is  the  orchard  which'  I  helped  to  rear, 
It  well  repays  my  labor  year  by  year  : 
One  apple  tree  towers  high  above  the  rest 
Where  every  spring  a  blackbird  has  its  nest. 
Sweet  Lily  used  to  sta,nd  beneath  the  bough 
And  smiling  listen — but  she  comes  not  now, 
A  fairer  bird  ne'er  charmed  the  rising  day 
Than  she  we  loved  thus  early  called  away ; 
But  she  is  gone  to  sing  her  holy  strains 
In  lovelier  gardens  and  on  greener  plains. 

There  are  the  fields  that  I  myself  have  cleared 
Of  trees  and  brush,  and  Avhere  a  waste  appeared 


54  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

The  corn  just  ready  for  the  sickle  stands, 
And  golden  pumpkins  dot  my  fertile  lands. 
Tliere  are  the  pastures  where  my  cattle  feed, 
My  gentle  kine  supply  the  milk  we  need ; 
Sweet  cream  and  cheese  are  daily  on  our  board. 
And  clothing  warm  my  snowy  sheep  afford. 
There  ara  the  flowers  my  Annie  loves  to  tend, — 
■How  often  do  I  see  her  smiling  bend 
To  pluck  the  weeds,  or  teach  the  graceful  vine 
Around  the  string  or  slender  pole  to  twine. 
How  often  when  the  toils  of  day  are  done. 
And  I  return  just  at  the  set  of  sun, 
She  comes  to  meet  me  down  the  verdant  lane — 
Sweet  partner  of  my  pleasures  and  my  pain — 
With  snow-Avhite  buds  amid  her  sunny  hair. 
To  win  my  favor  all  her  joy  and  care. 
How  often  does  she  wander  forth  with  me 
And  share  my  seat  beneath  the  maple  tree, 
And  smile  and  blush  to  hear  my  ardent  lays 
Recount  her  virtues  and  pour  forth  her  praise. 

Hark  !    'tis  her  voice,  sweet  as  the  wildbird's  song ; 

She  comes  to  tell  me  I  have  tarried  long: 

I  hear  her  now  an  old  love  ditty  hum. 

And  now  she  calls — I  come,  dear  love,  I  come. 


THE   RETURN. 

Grateful  to  our  sleepless  eyes, 
Lo,  the  beams  of  morn  arise. 
And  the  mountain-tops  are  gray 
With  the  light  of  coming  day, — 
And  the  birds  are  on  the  wing. 
With  the  happy  birds  we'll  sing 


RURAL    SCENES.  55 

Bidding  doubt  and  gloom  be  gone, 
Like  tlie  shadows  at  the  dawn. 

Yes,  for  eyes  as  bright  as  day 
Ghmce  adown  the  shady  way  ; 
Gentle  voices  with  delight 
Whisper,  "  They  will  come  to-night  "; 
Hearts  as  fond  and  true  as  ours 
Wait  for  us  in  lovely  bowers  : 
Nor  shall  wait  for  us  in  vain, 
Faithful  ones,  we  come  again. 

Where  the  bending  willows  weep, 
And  the  mosses  slowly  creep. 
We  our  harps  neglected  hung. 
Soon  again  they  will  be  strung, — 
Forestjdell,  and  mountain  stream 
Will  take  up  the  blissful  theme 
When  no  longer  doomed  to  roam 
We  can  chant  the  praise  of  home. 

Lo,  in  yonder  sky  the  sun 
Half  his  daily  task  has  done  ; 
We  will  rest  beside  the  spring, 
While  the  bird  with  folded  wing 
Sits  within  his  cool  retreat. 
Shaded  from  the  noontide  heat. 
And  the  bees,  with  drowsy  hum, 
Homeward,  honey-laden  come, 

HomcAvard  too  our  way  we  hold, 
Laden,  not  with  paltry  gold. 
But  with  treasures  better  far 
Than  the  richest  jewels  are  : 
Simple,  trusting  hearts,  content 
With  the  blessings  Heaven  has  lent. 


56  CAXADIAN"    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Once  within  our  love-lit  cot, 
Rich  and  great  we  envy  not. 

Lo,  the  shadows  lengthen  fast ; 
Now  the  well-known  hills  are  past ; 
Now  the  forest,  dark  and  tall — 
Oh,  how  we  remember  all ! 
Now  the  pastures  strewn  with  rocks, 
Where  we  used  to  watch  our  flocks, — 
Farther  down  the  winding  road. 
See  !  it  is  our  own  abode. 

Where  the  slanting  sunbeams  fall 
On  the  lowly  cottage  wall, 
Fancy  can  already  trace 
Each  belov'd,  familiar  face  : 
One  by  one  each  form  appears 
Till  our  eyes  are  dim  with  tears  ; 
If  the  foretaste  be  so  sweet 
Soon  our  joy  Avill  be  complete  ! 

Here  we  are  !  But  all  is  still 
Save  the  ever-murmuring  rill, — 
Save  the  hooting  of  the  owl, 
And  the  village  watch-dog's  howl. 
Slowly  swings  the  cottage  door — 
Shall  we  cross  the  threshold  o'er  ? 
Empty  and  deserted  all — 
Echo  answers  to  our  call ! 

Where  the  bending  willoAV  tree 
Oft  has  sheltered  thee  and  me, 
Lo,  the  turf  has  been  uptorn  : 
We  have  come, — but  come  to  mourn  ! 
Eyes  are  dim  and  lips  are  cold, 
And  our  arms  we  sadly  fold 


KURAL    SCEXES.  57 

Over  hearts,  till  hushed  and  dead, 
Never  to  be  comforted  ! 

No  ;  our  hearts  shall  still  be  stroug, 
For  the  journey  is  not  long ; 
In  a  holy,  deathless  land 
We  shall  meet  our  household  band  : 
In  the  fairer  bowers  above, 
They  await  the  friends  they  love, 
Oh,  what  joy  with  them  to  dwell, 
Never  more  to  say  fareivell ! 


THE  OLD  SUGAR  CAMP. 

[Whoever  has  attended  a  "  sugaring  off  "  in  the  woods  will 
enjoy  the  reading  of  this  poem — the  description  is  so  life-like 
and  exhilarating.     It  is  a  home  scene.] 

Come  let  us  away  to  the  old  Sugar  Camp  ; 
The  sky  is  serene  though  the  ground  may  be  damp, — 
And  the  little  bright  streams,  as  they  frolic  and  run, 
Turn  a  look  full  of  thanks  to  the  ice-melting  sun ; 
While  the  warm  southern  winds,  wherever  they  go. 
Leave  patches  of  brown  'mid  the  glittering  snow. 

The  oxen  are  ready,  and  Carlo  and  Tray 

Are  watching  us,  ready  to  be  on  the  way, 

While  a  group  of  gay  children,  with  platter  and  spoon. 

And  faces  as  bright  as  the  roses  of  June, 

O'er  fences  and  ditches  exultingly  spring, 

Light-hearted  and  careless  as  birds  on  the  wing. 

Where's  Edwin  ?    Oh,  here  he  comes,  loading  his  gun ; 
Look  out  for  the  partridges — hush  !  there  is  one  ! 
Poor  victim !  a  bang  and  a  flutter — 'tis  o'er, — 


58  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

And  those  fair  dappled  wings  shall  expand  nevermore ; 

It  was  shot  for  onr  invalid  sister  at  home, 

Yet  we  sigh  as  beneath  the  tall  branches  we  roam. 

Our  cheeks  all  aglow  with  the  long  morning  tramp, 
We  soon  come  in  sight  of  the  old  Sugar  Camp ; 
The  syrup  already  is  placed  in  the  pan, 
And  we  gather  around  it  as  many  as  can, — 
We  try  it  on  snow ;  when  we  find  it  is  done 
We  fill  up  a  mold  for  a  dear  absent  one.    . 

Oh,  gayest  and  best  of  all  parties  are  these, 
That  meet  in  the  Camp  'neath  the  old  maple  trees, 
Eenewing  the  love  and  the  friendship  of  years, — 
They  are  scenes  to  be  thought   of  with   smiles  and 

with  tears 
When  age  shall  have  furrowed  each  beautiful  cheek, 
And  left  in  dark  tresses  a  silvery  streak. 

Here  brothers  and  sisters  and  lovers  have  met. 
And  cousins  and  friends  we  can  never  forget ; 
The  prairie,  the  ocean,  divide  us  from  some, 
Yet  oft  as  the  seasons  for  sugaring  come. 
The  cup  of  bright  syrup  to  friendship  we'll  drain, 
And  gather  them  home  to  our  bosom  again. 

Dear  Maple,  that  yieldeth  a  nectar  so  rare. 

So  useful  in  spring,  and  in  summer  so  fair, — 

Of  autumn  acknowledged  the  glory  and  queen. 

Attendant  on  every  Canadian  scene, 

Enshrined  in  our  homes  it  is  meet  thou  shouldst  be 

Of  our  country  the  emblem,  0  beautiful  Tree ! 


KUKAL    SCENES.  59 

TO  A  RABBIT. 

Go  to  the  green  wood,  go 

I  oft  shall  sigh  for  thee, — 
And  yet  rejoice  to  know, 

That  thou  art  sporting  free. 

Go  to  the  meadows  green, 

Where  summer  holds  her  reign  ; 

When  winter  spoils  the  scene 
Wilt  thou  return  again  ? 

A  shelter  thou  wouldst  find 

From  every  howling  storm  ; 
The  heart  thou  leav'st  behind 

Would  still  be  true  and  warm. 

Why  dost  thou  struggle  thus  ? 

Does  every  balmy  breeze 
That  softly  fanneth  us, 

Tell  of  the  waving  trees  ? 

Do  yonder  happy  birds 

That  sing  for  thee  and  me, 
For  chorus  have  the  words 

So  precious — "  I  am  free  ?  " 

Go  then,  as  free  as  they. 

As  light  and  happy  roam 
With  thy  companions  gay. 

Safe  in  thy  forest  home. 

There — thou  art  gone  ;  farewell ! 

My  heart  leaps  up  with  thine  ; 
And  I  rejoice  to  tell 

Thou  art  no  loncrer  mine. 


60  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

I  could  not  breathe  the  air 
Where  pining  captives  dwell ; 

My  freedom  thou  wilt  share, 
With  joy  then,  fare-thee-well. 


THE  OLD 

The  old  man's  cheek  was  wet  with  tears, 
And  his  wrinkled  brow  was  pale, 

As  after  a  lapse  of  many  years 
He  stood  in  Ms  native  vale. 

The  warblers  sang  in  the  leafy  bough, 
And  the  earth  was  robed  in  green  ; 

But  the  old  man's  heart  beat  sadly  now 
While  he  gazed  on  the  lovely  scene. 

The  stream  ran  clear  to  the  distant  sea, 

The  same  as  he  saw  it  last ; 
And  sitting  beneath  an  old  elm  tree, 

He  thought  of  days  in  the  past. 

He  thought  how  he  climbed  the  verdant  hiU, 
Or  roved  through  the  forest  wild. 

Or  traced  to  its  source  the  rippling  rill, 
A  gay  and  careless  child. 

And  as  he  thought  of  the  happy  throng 
That  around  him  used  to  crowd 

With  the  ringing  laugh  and  the  joyous  song. 
The  old  man  wept  aloud. 

For  well  he  knew  they  would  meet  no  more 
On  the  dreary  shores  of  time, — 

But  he  looked  away  to  a  brighter  shore, 
He  looked  to  a  deathless  clime. 


KURAL    SCENES.  61 

That  moment  a  young  and  merry  group 

Came  bounding  across  the  lea, 
With  rosy  cheek,  with  ball  and  with  hoop 

They  came  to  the  old  elm  tree. 

They  paused  awhile  in  their  noisy  play 

To  gaze  on  the  aged  man, 
While  he  wiped  his  falling  tears  away 

And  in  trembling  tones  began  : 

"  I  would  not  cloud  for  the  world  your  joy, 
Or  have  you  less  happy  for  me — 
For  I  have  been  like  yourselves  a  boy 
Though  I'm  now  the  wreck  you  see. 

"  But  let  the  words  of  wisdom  and  truth 
In  your  memories  be  enrolled, — 
And  in  the  days  of  your  sunny  youth 
Be  hind  to  the  poor  and  old  !  " 

The  children  wept  as  they  heard  him  speak. 

And  forgetful  of  their  play 
They  wiped  the  tears  from  his  furrowed  cheek, 

Aiid  they  smoothed  his  locks  of  gray. 

He  laid  his  hand  with  a  tender  air 

By  turns  on  each  youthful  head, 
Then  lifting  his  faded  eyes  in  prayer, 

"  God  bless  you  ! '-'  the  old  man  said. 

And  the  boys  loere  hlest : — for  the  angels  flung 
Around  them  their  wdngs  of  gold ; 

So  ever  they  do  when  the  gay  and  young 
Are  kind  to  the  poor  and  old. 


62  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

THE  FADING  AND  THE  UNFADING. 

Once  more  the  beautiful  Spring  lias  returned,  and 
from  my  window  I  can  behold  the  delightful  places 
where  I  have  so  often  roamed  in  childhood  light- 
hearted  and  happy.  But  the  lovely  Spring  brings  no 
longer  the  same  emotions  as  of  yore.  Oh  no  !  for  "  a 
change  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  my  dream."  Earth 
has  lost  its  charms,  and  although  I  love  the  beauties 
of  nature  even  better  than  before,  still  they  cannot 
satisfy, — they  are  doomed  to  fade,  and  my  soul  yearns 
for  those  beautiful  heavenly  bowers  which  shall  never 
wither ;  where  God  himself  reigns  in  person  and 
"  chases  night  away."  But,  although  I  sigh  for  such 
things,  am  I  prepared  for  them  ?  Should  I  be  ready 
at  this  moment  to  enter  the  paradise  of  God  ?  Ah, 
my  heart,  why  shouldest  thou  hesitate  thus  to  return 
an  answer  ?  God  is  still  able  and  willing  to  save,  and 
though  I  have  wandered  so  far  from  Him,  if  with  an 
humble  and  penitent  soul  I  confess  my  sins  he  is  will- 
ing and  able  to  forgive  me. — June  4,  1853. 


ON  RECEIPT  OF  SOME  WILD  FLOWERS. 

I  bedewed  with  tears  those  spring-time  flowers, 
For  they  brought  to  my  mind  the  happy  hours 
When  I  roamed  through  the  forests  and  meadows 

green 
With  a  heart  all  alive  to  each  beautiful  scene. 

I  loved  the  flowers  when  my  step  was  light, 

And  my  cheek  with  the  glow  of  health  was  bright. 


BUKAL    SCEXKS.  G3 

Througli  forest  and  meadows,  o'er  plain  and  o'er  hill 
I  may  wander  no  more — but  I  love  them  still ! 

I  love  the  flowers,  and  I  love  them  best 

When  they  first  peep  out  from  earth's  snow-wreathed 

breast ; 
For  they  tell,  amid  sorrow,  and  death,  and  gloom, 
Of  a  spring  that  shall  visit  the  depths  of  the  tomb ! 

And  oh  !  could  I  roam  through  Fortune's  bowers, 
I  would  twine  a  wreath  of  the  sweetest  flowers, 
Whose  beauty  and  fragrance  should  ne'er  depart — 
But  brighten  thy  home  and  gladden  thy  heart ! 

But  the  flowers  of  earth  are  fragile  and  fair, — 

And  the  young  brow  must  fade  and  be  furrowed  with 

care ; 
But  hast  thou  not  heard  of  a  wonderful  clime 
That  ne'er  has  been  marred  by  the  f ootstej)S  of  Time  ? 

There  in  gardens  of  bliss  the  weary  repose ; 

There  the  pale,  sickly  cheek  wears  the  hue  of  the 

rose ; 
There  death  never  comes, — Oh,  amid  its  bright  bowers, 
May  we  twine  for  each  other  a  garland  of  flowers ! 


THE  SICK  GIRL'S  DREAM. 

I  heard  the  other  night  in  dreams 

The  early  robin  sing  : 
The  southern  winds  unlocked  the  streams. 

And  warmed  the  heart  of  Spring. 

The  plum-trees  wore  their  bridal  dress. 
The  willows  donned  their  plumes. 


64  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

And  to  the  zephyr's  fond  caress 
Gave  forth  their  rare  perfumes. 

Through  months  of  wintry  frost  and  storm- 
Yet  never  harmed  by  them — 

A  million  germs  had  nestled  warm, 
Close  to  the  parent  stem. 

The  happy  spring-time  broke  their  rest, 
They  drank  the  morning  dew. 

They  clasped  the  sunbeams  to  their  breast, 
Aid  clothed  the  trees  anew. 

The  clouds  distilled  the  fertile  rain 
And  sent  it  forth  in  showers  ; 

The  sunlight  danced  along  the  plain 
And  painted  it  with  flowers. 

The  butterfly  went  forth  to  play, 

The  useful  honey  bee 
Kept  up  a  hum  through  all  the  day 

Of  cheerful  industry. 

The  squirrel  gamboled  in  the  grove, 

The  rabbit  bounded  by, 
The  wary  spider  spun  and  wove. 

And  trapped  the  careless  fly. 

From  out  the  joyous,  vocal  wood 

The  song  of  warblers  came  : 
The  cuckoo,  in  a  merry  mood, 

Told  and  re-told  its  name. 

And  when  behind  the  purple  hill 

The  sun  went  out  of  sight. 
The  frogs  began  with  hearty  will 

Their  concert  for  the  night. 


KUKAL    SCENES.  G5 

Such  scenes  liad  made,  in  brii^hter  years, 

]\I}-  heart  with  transport  leap, 
But  now  they  touclied  the  spring  of  tears, — 

I  sobbed  aloud  in  sleejo. 

And  is  there  not  some  balm,  I  cried, 

'Mid  nature's  boundless  wealth  ? 
"  Behold  " — a  gentle  voice  replied — 

"Behold  the  Fount  of  health  !" 

Just  then  a  torrent  met  my  e^'e, 

Fresh  from  the  rock  it  burst ; 
I  could  have  drained  the  fountain  dry, 

So  raging  was  my  thirst. 

Such  deep  emotions  filled  my  soul 

I  woke — the  vision  fled : 
The  moonbeams  through  the  curtain  stole. 

Ah !  'twas  a  dream,  I  said. 

But  w^ell  I  know  there  is  a  land 

Where  flows  the  living  stream ; 
And  when  upon  its  banks  I  stand, 

Oh,  then  'twill  be  no  dream. 


THE  LAST  SONG. 

"Earth  is  fair,  oh  so  fair,"— 

Sang  a  little,  hai)py  bird  ; 
Though  a  prey  to  grief  and  care. 

With  a  smile  I  heard. 
Sing  again  that  blithesome  strain, 

Precious  little  bird,  I  said  ; 
For  the  heart  that  throbbed  with  pain 

Thou  hast  comforted ! 


QQ  CANADIAIST   WILD    FLOWERS. 

"  Earth  is  fair,  oli  so  fair,"  _ 

Louder  sans  the  happy  bird ; 
"What  have  I  to  do  with  care, 

Or  with  hope  deferred  ?  " 
All  the  western  sky  was  red 

With  the  beams  of  setting?  sun, 
As  the  sportsman  homeward  sped 

With  the  fatal  gun. 

"  Earth  is  fair,  oh  so  fair. 

And  I  love  the  green  earth  well," — 
Death  was  in  the  balmy  air. 

And  the  Avarbler  fell ! 
Earth  is  fair — but  earth  no  more 

Wears  its  pleasant  green  for  thee, — 
Cold  and  stiff  and  bathed  in  gore 

Underneath  the  tree. 

Earth  is  fair,  but  alas ! 

It  hath  many  scenes  of  woe ; 
Happy  they  who  through  them  pass, 

Sweetly  singing  as  they  go, — 
Comforting  some  lonely  heart. 

Making  some  weak  spirit  strong;  — 
So  may  I,  and  then  depart, 

On  my  lips  a  song ! 


AN  EVENING  SCENE. 

How  still  and  calm  !  what  fairer  scene  e'er  met 

The  eye  of  mortal  short  of  Paradise  ? 

The  quiet  lake  is  like  a  mirror  set 

In  richest  green  where  sunset  loves  to  see 

Itself  arrayed  in  crimson,  pink  and  gold.  _ 

And  e'en  the  proud  old  mountain  bows  his  head 


RURAL    SCENES.  67 

Shaggy  witli  hemlocks,  and  appears  well  pleased 

To  view  so  grand  a  form  reflected  there. 

Hark  !  o'er  the  polished  surface  how  the  loons 

Call  to  each  other,  waking  echoes  wild 

From  crag  and  cliff,  and  waking  in  my  heart 

Sweet  memories  of  other  days  and  years 

When  health  was  on  my  cheek,  and  hope  and  love 

O'er  all  the  future  wove  one  iris  bright. 

All,  little  prophets,  do  you  then  predict 

A  rainy  morrow  ?     By  yon  crimson  west 

I  doubt  your  warnings  ;  so  in  truth  it  seems 

Does  yonder  farmer  Avho,  with  shouldered  scythe 

Prom  meadows  fragrant  with  the  new-mown  hay, 

Goes  whistling  homeward,  glad  to  seek  repose 

Until  another  sun  shall  call  him  forth. 

To  gather  into  barns  the  winter's  store 

Of  food  provided  for  the  gentle  kine 

That  faintly  lowing  from  the  pastures  come 

Scented  with  herbage,  giving  promise  fair 

Of  pails  o'erflowing  with  a  sweeter  drink 

Than  ever  gleamed  in  the  inebriate's  bowl. 

Now  o'er  the  landscape  signs  of  twilight  creep. 

And  sounds  that  tell  of  night — sounds  that  I  love  : 

The  hooting  of  the  owl,  the  tree-frog's  cry 

By  distance  mellowed ;  and — more  distant  still — 

I  hear  the  barking  of  the  village  dogs. 

The  breath  of  evening  whispering  'mid  the  pines. 

And  deepening  shadows,  bid  mo  homeward  turn  ; 

And  yet  I  linger — for  I  seem  a  part 

Of  lake  and  mountain,  meadow,  tree  and  sky, — 

And  realize  how  sweet  a  thing  it  is 

To  lay  my  heart  so  close  to  Nature's  own 

That  I  can  feel  its  throbbing,  while  each  pulse 

Responsive  beats,  and  o'er  my  being  steals 

A  rapturous  calm  like  that  our  parents  felt 


68  CAXADIAX   WILD    FLOWERS. 

When  to  the  bowers  of  Eden  they  repaired, 
And  praised  their  Maker  seen  in  all  his  works. 

Author  of  nature  !     Source  of  life  and  light ! 

Almighty  Father !  let  me  praise  thee  too. 

This  lovely  world  is  thine  ;  yon  moon  and  stars 

That  now  begin  to  usher  in  the  night 

Ai'e  but  the  outposts  of  unnumbered  spheres 

That  march  in  order  round  thy  dazzling  throne, 

And  chant  thy  praises  in  perpetual  song. 

All  these  are  thine,  for  thou  hast  made  them  all ; 

And  I  am  thine  !     I  thank  thee,  Lord  of  lords, 

King  of  the  Universe,  Creator,  God, 

That  while  in  part  I  realize  thy  poiver 

I  know  it  has  an  equal  in  the  love 

Which  bowed  the  heavens  and  consecrated  earth 

When  the  Messiah  came  to  save  mankind. 

And  in  its  proper  orbit  reinstate 

A  fallen  world,  Avhich  shall  one  day  become 

The  fairest  'mid  the  sisterhood  of  orbs, 

The  most  renowned  because  the  dearest  bought, — 

The  best  beloved,  because  the  ransom  given 

Was  all  that  God  omiiipotent  could  pay  ! 


AUTUMN  TEACHINGS. 

The  howling  winds  rage  around  my  casement.  The 
summer  is  past,  and  everything  indicates  that  winter 
will  soon  be  here.  The  seared  leaves  are  falling  from 
their  homes  in  the  waving  forests ;  the  earth  has 
thrown  aside  her  gay  mantle  of  green,  and  one  scene 
of  desolation  presents  itself  to  the  eye.  The  decay  of 
nature  brings  with  it  sad  and  solemn  reflections,  how 


KUKAL    SCENES.  69 

much  more  the  decay  of  the  human  form — of  which 
autumn  seems  so  striking  an  emblem.  The  days  of 
man  are  few.  Like  the  floAver  of  the  field  he  perish- 
eth,  and  yet  how  few  seem  to  realize  it !  0  God, 
teach  me  to  apply  my  heart  unto  wisdom.  Help  me 
to  love  and  serve  thee,  that  when  "  the  heavens  shall 
be  dissolved  and  the  elements  shall  melt  Avith  fervent 
heat "  I  may  not  be  among  those  who  shall  take  up 
the  sad  lamentation :  "  The  harvest  is  past,  the  sum- 
mer is  ended,  and  we  are  not  saved." — Oct.,  1852. 


THE  WATCHER, 

[As  Miss  JOHXSOX  lived  in  the  house  with  Dr.  G.  O.  Som- 
ers,  wlio  would  frequently  In  winter  cross  lake  Memphremagog 
on  the  ice  in  visiting  his  patients,  the  following,  written  on  a 
sick-bed,  gives  a  graphic  description  of  what  her  fears  pictured 
might  be  a  reality.] 

Night  comes,  but  he  comes  not !     I  fear 
The  treacherous  ice ;  what  do  I  hear  ? 
Bells  ?  nay,  I  am  deceived  again, — 
'Tis  but  the  ringing  in  my  brain. 
Oh  how  the  wind  goes  shrieking  past ! 
Was  it  a  voice  uJDon  the  blast  ? 
A  cry  for  aid  ?     My  God  protect ! 
Preserve  his  life — ^his  course  direct ! 
How  suddenly  it  has  grown  dark — 
How  very  dark  without — hush  !  hark  ! 
'Tis  but  the  creaking  of  the  door  ; 
It  opens  Avide,  and  nothing  more. 
Then  Avind  and  snoAv  came  in ;  I  thought 
Some  straggler  food  and  shelter  sought ; 


70  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

But  more  I  feared,  for  fear  is  weak, 

That  some  one  came  of  him  to  speak: 

To  tell  how  loQg  he  braved  the  storm. 

How  long  he  kept  his  bosom  warm 

With  thoughts  of  home,  how  long  he  cheered 

His  weary  horse  that  plunged,  and  reared, 

And  wallowed  through  the  drifted  snow 

Till  daylight  faded,  and  the  glow 

Of  hope  went  out ;  how  almost  blind, 

He  peered  around,  below,  behind, — 

No  road,  no  track,  the  very  shore 

All  blotted  out, — one  struggle  more, 

It  is  thy  last,  perchance,  brave  heart ! 

0  God  !  a  reef  !  the  masses  part 

Of  snow  and  ice,  and  dark  and  deep 

The  waters  lie  in  death-like  sleep ; 

He  sees  too  late  the  chasm  yawn ; 

Sleigh,  horse  and  driver,  all  are  gone ! 

Father  in  heaven !     It  may  be  thus. 

But  thou  art  gracious, — pity  us, 

Save  him,  and  me  in  mercy  spare 

What  'twould  be  worse  than  death  to  bear. 

Hark  !  hark  !  am  I  deceived  again  ? 

Nay,  'tis  no  ringing  in  my  brain  ; 

My  pulses  leap — my  bosom  swells — 

Thank  God  !  it  is,  it  is  his  bells  / 


patriotic  i^ocmis!. 


THE  SURRENDER  OF  QUEBEC. 

[Quebec  is  the  oldest,  city  in  Canada,  liaving  been  founded 
by  Cliamplain,  in  1608,  near  the  site  of  an  Indian  village.  It 
was  taken  from  the  French,  by  the  English,  under  General 
Wolfe,  in  1759,  after  a  heroic  defence  by  Montcalm.  Both 
generals  fell  on  the  battle-field,  mortally  wounded.  In  1853 
the  Literary  and  Historical  Society  of  Quebec  offered  a  prize 
medal  for  the  best  poem  relating  to  the  history  of  Canada. 
Miss  JoHXSOX  (then  in  her  eighteenth  year)  wrote  the  follow- 
ing, which  took  the  prize.] 

The  orb  of  day  upon  liis  pathway  pressed, 
Beaming  with  splendor,  toward  the  shining  west, 
Cast  one  long,  lingering  glance  upon  the  scene, 
Lit  up  the  river  and  the  forest  green. 
Left  his  last  rays  upon  the  lordly  dome, 
And  deigned  to  smile  upon  the  peasant's  home  ; 
Then  'neath  the  western  hills  he  sought  repose. 
And  sank  to  rest  as  calmly  as  he  rose  : 
Bright  at  the  dawn  of  day,  but  brighter  noAV, 
When  day  had  almost  passed,  and  round  her  brow 
Hung  the  expiring  beams  of  dazzling  light. 
The  certain  presage  of  approaching  night. 
Slowly  his  gorgeous  train,  like  him,  withdreAV, 
Changing  as  they  advanced  in  form  and  hue, 
Until  one  lovely  tint  of  fairest  dye 
Stole  softly  o'er  the  calm  and  cloudless  sky ; 
Day,  gently  smiling,  left  her  gleaming  throne. 
And  evening  fair  came  forth,  and  reigned  alonc^ 
The  twinkling  stars  the  azure  vault  adorned ; 


72  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Like  glistening  gems,  a  glorious  crown  they  formed, 
And  proudly  sat  in  splendor  pure  and  bright 
Upon  the  pale  and  pensive  brow  of  night ; 
While  in  the  midst  of  all,  with  trantpiil  mein, 
IMild  Cynthia  lent  enchantment  to  the  scene. 

Beneath  lay  spreading  pastures  green  and  fair, 
And  lofty  hills  and  waving  forests,  where 
The  human  voice  had  never  yet  been  heard, 
Or  other  sound,  save  when  the  depths  were  stirred 
By  the  loud  screams  of  some  lone  midnight  bird. 
But  high  o'er  all  the  lofty  city  rose, 
Firm  in  its  strength,  sublime  in  its  repose ; 
On  every  hand  by  nature  fortified, 
And  strongly  built ;  with  air  of  conscious  pride 
Gazed  from  its  heights  upon  the  scene  below, 
And  bade  defiance  to  each  lurking  foe ; 
Confiding  in  its  bulwarks  firm  and  sure, 
It  calmly  slept  and  deemed  itself  secure ! 

The  river  swept  along ;  with  surging  roar 
Its  waves  dashed  Avildly  on  the  rocky  shore; 
While  on  its  broad,  expansive  bosom  lay 
The  twinkling  orbs  in  beautiful  array ; 
And  every  pearly  drop  shone  clear  and  bright, 
Bathed  in  a  flood  of  soft  and  silvery  light. 
Scarcely  a  ripple  stirred  its  quiet  breast ; 
For  every  sighing  breeze  was  lulled  to  rest. 
And  every  sound  was  hushed  on  earth,  in  air. 
And  silence  held  supreme  dominion  there. 

Sleep  sent  his  angels  forth ;  with  silent  tread. 
From  house  to  house,  they  on  their  mission  sped ; 
Watched  by  the  couch  of  suffering  and  pain. 
Soothed  the  pale  brow  and  calmed  the  throbbing  brain, 
Eased  the  sad  heart  and  closed  the  weeping  eye. 


PATRIOTIC    POEMS.  73 

Bade  care  and  grief  Avith  tlieir  attendants  fly, 
Entered  the  chamber  of  the  rich  and  great, 
Nor  scorned  to  visit  those  of  mean  estate, 
Ent  blessed  alike  the  lofty  and  the  low. 
Alike  bade  each  forget  their  weight  of  woe. 
The  proud  and  wealthy  drew  around  their  breast 
"The  curtains  of  repose,"  and  sank  to  rest; 
The  pallid  sons  of  want  and  hunger  slept, 
And  sorrow's  sons  forgot  that  they  had  wept. 

The  night  wore  slowly  on ;  the  dismal  tower 
Had  long  since  tolled  the  lonely  midnight  hour 
AVhen  a  proud  band,  by  daring  impulse  led, 
Approached  the  river  with  a  cautious  tread. 
With  kindling  eye  and  with  an  eager  air. 
Unmoored  the  boats  that  waited  for  them  there ; 
In  silence  left  the  calm  and  peaceful  shore, 
In  sullen  silence  plied  the  hasty  oar. 
In  silence  passed  adown  the  quiet  stream, 
While  ever  and  anon  a  j^ale  moonbeam. 
Sad  and  rej3roachful,  cast  a  hasty  glance 
On  polished  dagger  and  on  gleaming  lance. 

The  scene  was  mournful,  and  with  magic  art 
It  acted  strangely  on  each  manly  heart ; 
No  speedy  action  now,  no  rude  alarm, 
Called  forth  their  powers,  or  nerved  the  stalwart  arm  ; 
No  present  danger  used  its  strong  control, 
To  rouse  the  passions  of  the  warrior's  soul ; 
But  all  conspired  to  place  Thought  on  her  throne. 
And  yield  the  reins  of  power  to  her  alone. 

The  past  came  slowly  forth  with  all  its  train 
Of  blissful  scenes  that  ne'er  might  be  again. 
Of  mournful  partings  and  convulsive  sighs. 
Of  pallid  faces  and  of  tearful  eyes, 


74  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Of  aching  hearts  that  heaved  with  sorrow's  swell, 
And  broken  tones  that  sadly  breathed,  "  Farewell !  " 
And  in  the  silence  of  that  lonely  hour. 
Which  bade  the  sternest  own  its  wondrous  power, 
A  small,  still  voice  whispered  in  every  soul. 
Although  each  sought  to  burst  from  its  control : 
"  To-morrow  niglit  the  moon,  as  fair  as  now. 
May  shed  her  beams  upon  your  death-sealed  brow ! 
To-morrow  night  the  stars  may  gild  the  wave 
While  you,  perchance,  may  fill  a  soldier's  grave  ! 
To-morrow  night  your  spirit  may  explore 
The  boundless  regions  of  an  unknoAvn  shore  ! 
To-morrow  night  may  hud  you  with  the  slain, 
And  weeping  love  watch  your  return  in  vain ! " 

And  yet  not  long  such  gloomy  thoughts  might  rest 
Within  the  soldier's  brave  and  gallant  breast ; 
Not  long  the  warrior,  panting  for  the  held 
And  for  the  battle's  horrid  din,  might  yield 
His  fearless  spirit  unto  sorrow's  sway, 
Or  dread  the  issue  of  the  coming  day. 
The  momentary  sadness  now  was  o'er, 
As  with  new  hopes  they  neared  the  frowning  shore, 
Landed  in  silence,  and  in  stern  array 
Pressed  firmly  forward  on  their  dangerous  way. 
Mounted  the  rugged  rocks  with  footsteps  slow, 
And  left  the  murmuring  river  far  below. 

From  cliff  to  cliff  the  gallant  army  spring, 
Nor  envy  now  the  eagle's  soaring  wing  ; 
They  view  their  labors  o'er,  their  object  gain. 
And  proudly  stand  uj)on  the  lovely  plain  ; 
Gaze  down  upon  the  awful  scenes  they've  passed, 
Eejoicing  that  they've  reached  the  heights  at  last. 
Hope  lights  each  eye  and  fills  each  manly  breast. 
Where  wild  desires  and  aspirations  rest ; 


PAXKIOXIU    POEMS.  75 

It  bids  each  doubt  and  every  shadow  flee, 
And  points  them  on  to  certain  victory  ! 

The  morning  dawned ;  the  orient  beams  of  light 
Eell  on  a  strange  and  a  romantic  sight, — 
On  glistening  helmet  and  on  nodding  crest, 
On  waving  banner  and  on  steel-clad  breast. 
The  city  woke, — but  woke  to  hear  the  cry, 
"  To  arms  !  to  arms !  the  foe — the  foe  is  nigh  !  " 
She  woke  to,  hear  the  trumpet's  wild  alarms — 
She  woke  to  hear  the  sound  of  clashing  arms — 
She  woke  to  view  her  confidence  removed — 
She  woke  to  view  her  trusted  safety  proved ; 
Her  mighty  bulwarks,  long  her  pride  and  boast. 
All  safely  mounted  by  a  British  host — 
She  woke  to  view  her  lofty  ramparts  yield, 
Her  plains  converted  to  a  battle-field. 
Her  gallant  troops  in  wild  disorder  fly, 
The  British  banner  floating  to  the  sky. 
And  proudly  waving  o'er  the  bloody  plain, 
O'er  heaps  of  dying  and  o'er  heaps  of  slain. 

Eoused  from  their  hasty  dreams,  with  brows  aghast. 
On  every  hand  the  soldiers  gather  fast. 
Bind  on  their  armor,  seize  the  glittering  sword, 
Form  in  a  line,  and  at  a  simple  word. 
With  hurried  steps  advance  toward  the  shore. 
With  hasty  gestures  grasp  the  trembling  oar. 
Across  the  river's  bosom  swiftly  glide 
And  safely  land  upon  the  other  side. 
Drawn  up  in  battle  order  now  they  stand, 
Waiting  in  silence  for  their  chief's  command ; 
Then  onward  move,  with  firm  and  stately  tread. 
With  waving  plumes  and  ensigns  proudly  spread, 
With  gleaming  sword  and  with  uplifted  lance. 
Where  brigJitly  now  the  glistening  sunbeams  dance  ; 


76  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

But  long  before  those  sunbeams  sball  decline 
Streams  of  dark  blood  shall  tarnish  all  their  shine ; 
Those  beams  shall  strive  to  gild  tlie  steel  in  vain, 
For  human  gore  the  polished  steel  shall  stain. 

The  sun  rose  clear  that  morn ;  with  ardent  glow 
He  shed  his  beams  alilce  o'er  friend  and  foe. 
His  golden  hues  the  spreading  fields  adorn, 
Waving  in  beauty  Avitli  the  ripening  corn ; 
Give  richer  colors  to  the  lofty  trees, 
That  gently  rustle  in  the  morning  breeze  ; 
They  gild  the  river's  surface,  calm  and  blue, 
And  shine  reflected  in  the  sparkling  dew. 

Oh,  ye,  who  stand  prepared  for  deadly  strife, 
Thirsting  for  blood  and  for  a  brother's  life. 
Behold  the  glories  that  around  you  lie, 
The  harmony  pervading  earth  and  sky  ! 
Behold  the  wondrous  skill  and  power  displayed 
In  every  leaf  and  every  lowly  blade ; 
On  every  hand  behold  the  wondrous  love 
Of  Him  who  reigns  in  majesty  above, — 
Who  bids  for  man  all  nature  sweetly  smile. 
And  sends  his  rain  upon  the  just  and  vile  ; 
His  attribute  is  love  ;  and  shall  ye  dare 
To  take  the  life  mercy  and  love  would  spare  ? 
Shall  ye  destroy  what  he  has  formed  to  live. 
And  take  away  what  ye  can  never  give  ? 
Shall  puny  mortal  claim  the  right  his  own 
Belonging  to  Omnipotence  alone  ? 
Rash  man,  forbear !  and  stay  the  ready  dart 
That  seeks  to  lodge  within  thy  brother's  heart. 
But,  no  ;  for  mercy's  voice,  now  hushed  and  still. 
No  longer  may  the  steel-clad  bosom  thrill ; 
And  hearts  that  melted  once  at  other's  woe — 
That  kindled  once  with  friendship's  fervent  glow — 


PATKIOTIC    POEMS.  77 

That  once  had  felt  and  owned  the  soothing  power 
Of  tender  love — are  callous  in  the  hour 
When  savage  War  makes  bare  his  awful  arm 
And  peals  in  thunder  tones  his  dread  alarm. 

But  there  were  some  m  those  devoted  bands 
O'er  whom  the  blissful  scenes  of  other  lands 
Came  rushi  w^  wildly ;  and  Avith  piercing  gaze 
They  looked  an  instant  on  their  boyhood's  days ; 
Remembered  well  the  hours  that  flew  too  fast. 
Eemembered  some  with  whom  those  hours  were  past  j 
And,  'mid  the  group  of  dear  companions  gay, 
Eemembered  well  some  whom  they  saw  that  day  ; 
But  sprang  not  forward  with  familiar  grasp 
And  friendly  air,  the  proffered  hand  to  clasp  ; 
But  looked  away,  and  with  a  pang  of  pain 
Eegretted  that  they  e'er  had  met  again  ! 
For  now  they  met,  not  as  they  met  before — 
Not  as  they  used  to  meet  in  days  of  yore  ; 
Not  arm  in  arm,  like  brothers  fondly  tried. 
Whom  they  could  trust  and  in  whose  love  confide  ; 
Met  not  as  once  Avith  high  and  mutual  aim, 
In  classic  halls  to  seek  for  future  fame  : 
But  met  as  bitter  foes,  in  deadly  strife. 
Each  wildly  panting  for  the  other's  life ; 
With  armies  proud  and  swelling  like  the  flood, 
To  wreath  their  laurels  in  each  other's  blood  ! 

They  once  were  friends ;  but  France  and  England 
rose 
In  sounding  arms  and  they  are  hostile  foes  ! 
They  once  were  friends  ;  but  friendship  may  not  shield 
The  warrior's  breast  upon  the  battle-held  ! 
They  once  were  friends  ;  but,  hark !  the  cannon's  roar 
Loudly  proclaims  that  they  are  friends  no  more  ! 
From  rank  to  rank  the  stunning  volley  flies, 


78  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Prom  rank  to  rank  tlie  groans  of  anguisli  rise  ; 
Kank  after  rank  is  numbered  witli  the  slain  ; 
E-ank  follows  rank,  and  bleeds  upon  the  plain. 

Bravely  they  fought ;  with  unabated  zeal 
In  human  gore  they  dipped  the  shining  steel ; 
Pressed  o'er  the  heaps  of  dying  and  of  dead, 
Where  warriors  groaned,  and  gallant  heroes  bled ; 
AVhile  from  their  lips,  in  quick  and  stifled  breath 
Arose  the  cry  of  "  Victory,  or  death." 

Louder  and  louder  still  the  awful  roar 
Pealed  from  the  heights,  and   shook  the  frightened 

shore. 
Thick  clouds  of  smoke  enveloped  friend  and  foe  ; 
The  volleyed  thunder  shook  the  depths  below  ; 
Mountain  and  echoing  forest  joined  the  cry. 
And  distant  hills  gave  back  the  same  reply. 
With  animating  voice  and  waving  hand 
The  British  leader  cheered  his  gallant  band, 
Pressed  firmly  forward  where  one  endless  tide 
Of  woe  and  carnage  reigned  on  every  side, — 
Where  streams  of  blood  in  crimson  torrents  rolled, — 
Where  death  smote  down  alike  the  young  and  old ; 
And  where  the  thickest  poured  the  deadly  shot, 
The  gallant  Wolfe  with  daring  valor  fought. 

The  dead  and  dying  in  his  pathway  lie, 
Before  him  ranks  divide  and  squadrons  fly  ; 
With  stalwart  arm,  and  with  unerring  aim, 
He  adds  new  glories  to  his  former  fame, 
Eeaps  the  reward  of  all  his  toil :  for  now 
Fresh  laurels  twine  around  his  youthful  brow. 
But  what  avail  they  ?  for  the  fatal  dart 
Of  death  has  lodged  within  that  hoping  heart  ! 
The  lofty  head  that  wore  the  waving  crest. 


PATraOTIC    POEMS. 


79 


Now  sadly  droops  upon  the  bleeding  breast  _; 
That  mighty  arm,  upraised  in  power  and  pride, 
Falls  feebly  down,  and  casts  its  SAvord  aside  ; 
The  laurel  wreath  entwines  that  brow  in  vain, 
For,  lo  !  the  hero  lies  among  the  slain  ! 

The   French  fought   long  with  courage  and  with 
skill ; 
With  iron  arms  and  with  an  iron  will 
Eushed  bravely  forward  'mid  the  battle's  din, 
Eesolved  to  die,  or  else  the  victory  win ; 
Like  soldiers  true,  fought  firmly  and  fought  well. 
And  at  their  post  like  faithful  soldiers  fell. 

Deeper  and  deeper  now  the  conflict  grows  ; 
Despair  nerves  these,  and  victory  flushes  those. 
'Tis  the  last  struggle ;  hark  !  "  They  fly  !  they  fly  !  " 
Pierces  the  depths,  and  rends  the  vaulted  sky. 
'Tis  the  last  struggle,  for  the  beating  drum 
Proclaims  the  conflict  o'er,  the  victory  Avon. 
The  French  in  Avild  dismay  and  horror  yield, 
And  leave  the  British  masters  of  the  field. 

Far  in  the  rear  a  dying  warrior  lay. 
While  from  his  breast  the  life-blood  ebbed  away  ; 
Attendants  bent  around  to  staunch  the  tide 
That  flowed  in  torrents  from  his  wounded  side  ; 
With  Avild  convulsions  came  each  panting  breath. 
And  those  proud  features  wore  the  hue  of  death. 
His  lips  were  sealed,  his  beaming  eyes  Avere  dim. 
And  strangely  quivered  every  outstretched  limb  ; 
Unconscious  noAV  he  seemed  of  love  or  hate, 
Unconscious  now  his  spirit  seemed  to  Avait 
The  aAvful  summons  that  should  bid  it  fly 
To  Avorlds  unknoAvn,  unseen  by  human  eye. 
He  seemed  like  one  already  Avith  the  dead ; 


80  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

When,  lo !  he  started — raised  his  drooping  head ; 
With  dying  hand  he  grasped  his  trusty  blade, 
With  kindling  eye  the  battle-lield  surveyed, 
Heard  the  triumphant  shout,  "They  run!  they  run!" 
Knew  that  the  field  was  gained,  the  victory  won. 
"  Who  run  ?  "  he  cried,  with  wildly  throbbing  heart, 
With  gushing  breast,  and  livid  lips  apart. 
"  The  French  !  the  French  !  " — no  more  that  warrior 

heard ; 
It  Avas  enough  for  him,  that  single  word ; 
"  I  die  contented  !  "  and  his  youthful  head 
Fell  feebly  back ;  the  noble  soul  had  fled. 

Oh,  gallant  Wolfe  !  from  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea 
There  comes  a  wail — a  bitter  wail  for  thee  ; 
Thy  country  mourns  her  warrior,  true  and  brave, 
And  yearning  love  weeps  o'er  thy  lowly  grave. 
But  nothing  now  may  break  thy  tranquil  rest, 
Nothing  disturb  thy  calm  and  quiet  breast : 
Nor  clashing  arms,  nor  cannon's  deafening  roar, 
Nor  sorrow's  wail,  may  ever  rouse  thee  more. 
But,  when  a  voice,  far  louder  than  them  all, 
Shall  bid  thee  rise,  thou  must  obey  the  call, 
And  stand,  bereft  of  earthly  pride  and  power, 
Before  thy  Judge.     God  shield  thee  in  that  hour  ! 

K-emoter  from  the  scene,  with  drooping  head 
And  nerveless  arm,  another  warrior  bled  ! 
Death's  seal  upon  that  pallid  brow  was  pressed ; 
His  icy  hand  lay  on  that  heaving  breast ; 
But  thoughts  of  victory  lent  no  soothing  balm 
To  cheer  the  spirit  of  the  proud  Montcalm  ! 
He  lived  to  see  his  bravest  followers  die  ; 
He  lived  to  see  his  troops  disbanded  fly  ; 
Nor  longer  cared  to  live,  but  welcomed  death, 
And  with,  a  smile  resigned  his  fleeting  breath  ; 


PATRIOTIC    POEMS.  81 

Stretcliecl  his  proud  liinl)s,  'without  a  sigh  or  groan, 
And  death  had  claimed  the  hero  for  his  own. 

The  strife  was  o'er,  the  dreadful  combat  past ; 
The  echoing  hills  had  found  repose  at  last ; 
Carnage  had  done  its  work  on  every  side, 
And  even  greedy  death  was  satisfied ! 
The  sun  went  down  ;  how  changed  from  yester  night ! 
How  changed  his  aspect,  and  how  changed  the  sight 
On  which  he  gazed  !     Then  his  last  golden  beam 
Pell  on  a  landscape  fair — a  quiet  scene — 
Where  now  destruction  reared  its  standard  dread 
O'er  shattered  bodies  and  o'er  severed  head. 

Heap  upon  heap  the  pallid  victims  lay, 
Of  racking  pain  and  scorching  thirst  the  prey  ; 
In  anguish  rolled  upon  the  bloody  ground, 
And  Avider  still  they  tore  each  gaping  wound ; 
In  concert  joined  tlieir  agonizing  cries, 
Gnashed  Avith  their  teeth  and  rolled  their  blood-shot 

eyes  ; 
With  feeble  groans  they  drew  each  painful  breath. 
And  racked  with  torments  called  aloud  for  death  ! 
Far  o'er  the  field  in  wild  confusion  rose 
Piles  of  the  ghastly  dead — of  friends  and  foes — 
In  death  stretched  side  by  side,  mangled  and  cold 
While  over  all  the  sulphurous  war-clouds  rolled. 
In  dark,  dense  columns  mounted  up  on  high, 
Tainting  the  air,  polluting  all  the  sky. 

Quebec  was  won ;  and  o'er  each  lofty  tower 
The  British  banner  streamed  in  pride  and  power ; 
Where  the  French  eagle  once  her  wings  had  spread 
The  British  lion  reared  his  haughty  head. 
And  shook  the  conquered  country  with  his  roar ; 
The  eagle  flew  in  terror  from  the  shore. 


82  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEKS. 

With  drooping  plumage  skimmed  the  -western  main, 
And,  trembling,  sought  her  native  France  again; 
While  England,  proud  and  potent,  took  the  sway 
And  waved  her  sceptre  over  Canada. 


SONG  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEASANT  GIRL. 

[The  marriage  in  1858  of  Prince  Frederick  "William  of  Prus- 
sia to  Victoria  Adelaide  Mary,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Queen  of 
England  ;  and  the  visit  of  Albert  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  to 
Canada,  in  ISGO,  were  events  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  arouse 
the  patriotism  of  our  Canadian  poetess,  and  we  find  reference 
made  to  them  in  this  and  the  two  following  pieces.] 

I  am  but  a  rustic  maiden 

Dwelling  by  the  river  side, 
But  I'm  happy  as  the  Princess 

Who  today  becomes  a  bride. 

I  am  but  a  peasant's  daughter. 

All  his  life  in  toil  is  spent, 
But  he  loves  me  as  Prince  Albert 

Loves  his  child,  and  Pm  content. 

Though  the  Queen  of  many  nations. 

Centre  of  each  Royal  scene, 
Better  than  I  love  my  mother, 

Does  the  Princess  love  the  Queen  ? 

Are  Prince  Leopold  and  Arthur, 
Though  within  a  palace  bred, 

Dearer  than  my  little  brothers 
Playing  'neath  the  cottage  shed  ? 

There's  a  group  of  Eoyal  sisters 

Clustering  round  the  English  throne, 


PATRIOTIC    POEMS.  83 

But  I  know  they  are  not  truer, 
Better  sisters  than  mine  own. 

Hark  !  it  is  the  trumpet  sounding ; 

At  the  Prince  of  Prussia's  side 
Standeth  now  her  Eoyal  Highness  ; 

Oh,  I  woukl  not  be  the  bride ! 

Por  a  manly  voice  hath  whispered, 
"  Dearer  than  my  life  thou  art ! " 

What  care  I  who  rules  a  kingdom 
If  I  rule  in  Jamie's  heart  ? 

I  am  but  a  peasant's  daughter. 
And  the  wealthy  pass  me  by, — 

But  there's  not  in  merry  England 
A  happier  maid  than  I. 


A  NATION'S  DESIRE. 

God  hear  our  fervent  prayer, 
God  bless  the  royal  pair, 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 
Guide  them  in  all  their  ways. 
And  may  their  wedded  days 
Be  ordered  to  tliy  praise  ; 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 

The  waves  will  soon  divide 
Thee  and  thy  home,  youug  bride  ; 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 
But  over  land  and  sea 
Warm  hearts  will  follow  thee, 
Pirst  rose  of  England's  tree  ; 

God  save  the  Queen. 


84  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

CANADA'S  WELCOME. 

A  nation's  hearty  welcome  take, 

Heir  to  a  mighty  throne  ; 
Thrice  welcome  !  for  old  England's  sake, 

Thy  mother's,  and  thine  own. 

Erom  crowded  street,  from  hillside  green, 

From  fair  Canadian  vales, 
The  i:)rayer  goes  up — God  bless  the  Queen  I 

God  bless  the  Prince  of  Wales  ! 

T-he  rich  and  poor,  the  great  and  small 

Their  voices  join  as  one  ; 
Victoria's  name  is  dear  to  all. 

So  is  Victoria's  Son. 

Their  tribute  other  queens  have  laid 

Ujjon  the  land  and  sea  ; 
But  never  earthly  monarch  swayed 

So  many  hearts  as  she. 

And  for  her  young  and  gallant  heir 

A  kindred  love  prevails  ; 
God  hear  a  nation's  fervent  prayer  ! 

God  bless  the  Prince  of  Wales  ! 


OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

[This  was  probaljly  wilttcu  in  the  early  part  of  the  year 
1861,  before  Lincoln's  Emancipation  Proclamation  had  given 
deliverance  to  the  captives,  and  when  "the  north  star"  was 
an  object  dear  to  many  a  slave  who  longed  to  breathe  the 
free  air  of  Canada.  The  Kev.  E.  H.  Dewart  says  of  it :  "  This 
spirited  lyric  is  alike  creditable  to  the  talents,  patriotism,  and 
independence  of  its  author.  Its  loyalty  is  an  intelligent  attain- 
ment, fi'ee  from  blind  prejudice  and  crouchiug  adulation." 


PATiaoTic  roEMs.  85 

What  land  more  beautiful  than  ours  ? 

What  otlier  land  more  blest  ? 
The  South  with  all  its  wealth  of  flowers  ? 

The  prairies  of  the  West  ? 

Oh  no  !  there's  not  a  fairer  land 

Beneath  yon  azure  dome — 
Where  Peace  holds  Plenty  by  the  hand, 

And  Preedom  finds  a  home. 

The  slave  who  but  her  name  hath  heard, 

Eepeats  it  day  and  night, 
And  envies  every  little  bird 

That  takes  its  northward  flight. 

As  to  the  Polar  star  they  turn 

Who  brave  a  pathless  sea  : 
So  the  oppressed  in  secret  yearn, 

Dear  native  land,  for  thee  ! 

How  many  loving  memories  throng 

Pound  Britain's  stormy  coast ! 
Kenowned  in  story  and  in  song, 

Her  glory  is  our  boast. 

With  loyal  hearts  we  still  abide 
Beneath  her  sheltering  wing, — 

While  with  true  patriot  love  and  pride, 
To  Canada  we  cling. 

We  wear  no  haughty  tyrant's  chain, — 

We  bend  no  servile  knee. 
When  to  the  Mistress  of  tlie  main 

AVe  pledge  our  fealty. 

She  binds  us  with  the  cords  of  love, — 
All  others  we  disown  : 


86  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

The  rights  we  owe  to  God  above, 
We  yield  to  him  alone. 

May  He  our  future  course  direct 
By  his  unerring  hand  ; 

Our  laws  and  liberties  protect, 
And  bless  our  native  land. 


THE  APPEAL. 

[It  will  be  remembered  that  1861  closed  with  an  alarming 
prospect  of  war  between  England  and  the  United  States,  grow- 
ing partly  out  of  the  arrest  of  Mason  and  Slidell  on  board  the 
British  steamship  Trent.  Of  course  had  war  been  declared 
Canada  would  have  been  involved.  On  Christmas  of  that 
year  therefore  Miss  Johnson  wrote  this  appeal,  which  was 
published  in  a  Canadian  paper:] 

To  prayer  !  to  prayer  !  0  ye  who  love 

Your  country's  peace,  your  country's  weal, 
To  Him  who  rules  supreme  above, 

In  this  dark  hour  of  peril  kneel. 
To  prayer  !  to  prayer  !  before  the  cry 

"  To  arms  ! "  shall  make  your  spirit  quake, — 
And  ere  ye  dream  of  danger  nigh 

The  dark  portentous  war-cloud  break. 

So  long  hath  Peace  o'er  hill  and  vale 

Waved  her  white  banner  to  the  breeze, 
We  thought  her  smiles  would  never  fail. 

And  only  heard  from  o'er  the  seas 
The  murmur  of  an  angry  host. 

The  clang  of  arms,  the  cannon's  roar, — 
How  false  our  hope  !  how  vain  our  boast ! 

War  threatens  our  beloved  shore. 


PATRIOTIC    POEMS.  87 

Great  God !  to  wliom  the  nations  seem 

Like  dnst  that  gathers  on  the  scales, 
A  drop  within  a  mighty  stream, 

A  breath  amid  tlie  northern  gales, 
We  pray,  the  hearts  of  men  dispose 

So  that  the  sounds  of  war  may  cease. 
And  nations  who  should  ne'er  be  foes 

Embrace,  and  pledge  themselves  to  Peace. 


I  LOVE  THE  LAND  WHERE  I  WAS  BORN. 

[The  following  poem  appeared  in  the  Sherbrooke  (P.  Q.) 
Gazette,  sometime  in  the  winter  of  1SG3,  and  was  the  last  arti- 
cle prepared  by  Miss  Johnson  for  the  press.  It  is  of  special 
interest  for  having  been  written  during  the  dar]<  days  of  the 
war  in  the  United  States,  and  when  the  sympathy  of  England 
and  Canada  for  the  North  was  by  many  questioned.] 

I  love  the  land  where  I  was  born, 

'Tis  a  noble  land  and  good ; 
It  has  many  a  field  of  wheat  and  corn 

Where  once  the  forest  stood ; 
It  has  many  a  town  and  city  grand. 

Where  the  Savage  used  to  roam ; 
To  the  poor  of  every  other  land 

It  offers  a  peaceful  home. 

I'm  proud  of  the  land  where  I  Avas  born, 

I'm  proud  of  the  Parent  Isle, 
Whose  banners  float  at  the  gates  of  morn, 

And  the  gates  of  eve  the  while. 
And  my  pirlses  leap  with  a  joyous  thrill, 

AVherevcr  they  take  the  lead, 
And  join  their  hands  with  a  hearty  will 

In  doing  a  noble  deed. 


88  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOAVIiK.S. 

There's  another  land  that's  dear  to  me, 

For  it  speaks  the  English  tongue  ; 
Like  a  shoot  that  springs  from  an  old  oak  tree, 

From  the  English  race  it  sprung. 
It  has  gained  a  mighty  place  on  earth, 

And  a  mighty  name  has  won  ; 
It  has  given  to  sage  and  hero  birth, 

And  it  boasts  of  Washington. 

But  a  blot,  a  dark  and  loathsome  blot, 

Polluted  that  fair  young  land ; 
God  waited  till  his  wrath  was  hot. 

And  he  took  his  sword  in  hand  ! 
He  had  heard  the  bitter  wail  of  woe. 

He  had  heard  the  clanking  chain — 
He  rescued  a  nation  years  ago, 

He  will  rescue  one  again  ! 

There's  a  gathering  darkness  in  the  sky. 

There's  a  tramp  of  hurrying  feet ; 
There's  a  clang  of  arms,  and  a  battle  cry, 

And  two  hostile  armies  meet. 
They  meet !    they  charge  !    'tis  a  dreadful  sight ! 

They  wade  through  a  gory  sea ; 
It  is  life  or  death,  it  is  wrong  or  right, 

It  is  freedom  or  slavery  ! 

The  nations  stand  with  a  wondering  look, 

And  list  to  the  roar  and  din  ; 
While  History  bends  o'er  an  open  book 

And  steadily  writes  therein. 
And  what  will  she  say  of  my  native  land  ? 

And  what  of  the  Parent  Isle  ? 
To  the  ISTorth,  or  South,  did  they  give  their  hand, 

To  which  did  they  grant  a  smile  ? 


PATKIOTIC    POEMS.  89 

God  speaks  in  the  wind  and  earthquake  now, 

And  those  who  have  ears  raay  hear  : 
To  the  King  of  kings  let  monarchs  bow, 

And  let  all  the  earth  draw  near. 
Let  the  nations  mark  his  holy  laws, 

For  though  he  keeps  silence  long. 
With  fire  and  sword  He  will  plead  the  cause 

Of  the  weak  against  the  strong. 

Take  heed  and  beware,  my  native  land, — 

To  thy  ways  and  words  take  heed  ! 
On  the  side  of  right  and  freedom  stand, 

And  say  to  the  truth,  "  God  speed ! " 
Let  England  herself  a  lesson  learn. 

And  let  her  take  Avarning  too  ; 
Let  her  judge  as  she  would  be  judged  in  turn, 

Let  her  nobly  speak  and  do. 


THE  WORLD  TO  COME, 

[Dear  as  Canada  was  to  our  authoress,  dearer  still  to  her 
heart  was  the  true  Father-Land,  "  the  heavenly  country  "  for 
which  the  children  of  faith  in  the  olden  time  looked.  Being 
born  again  she  bore  such  a  relationship  to  the  world  to  come 
that  we  may  say  of  her,  as  she  does  of  "  the  bride  of  Christ "' : 
"The  Cross  was  intinitely  dearer  to  her  than  ten  thousand 
worlds.  It  was  twined  around  her  heart  with  ties  that  noth- 
ing could  over  loose.  She  wept,  but  they  were  mingled  tears 
of  joy  and  sorrow:  sorrow,  for  she  mourned  that  her  sins  had 
cost  the  life  of  the  Son  of  God;  joy,  for  she  knew  that  that 
sacrifice  had  made  a  i)erfect  atonement  for  hei\  She  knew 
that  the  Father  had  forgiven  her  iniquities,  and  that  he  would 
no  longer  remember  her  sins.  As  she  clung  to  the  Cross,  a 
bright  beam  of  glory  shone  around  her;  she  raised  her  tearful 
eyes,  and  a  crown  of  everlasting  beauty  met  her  admiring 


90  CANADIAX    "WILD    FLOWERS. 

gaze:  she  knew  that  crown  was  reserved  for  her,  and  that  on 

her  bridal  day  her  Lord  would  place  it  on  her  own  brow." 

With  such  an  experience  and  such  a  hope,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  she  should  thus  discourse :] 

The  earth  renewed  presents  a  glorious  scene  : 
Mountains  and  valleys  of  perpetual  green ; 
Delicious  plains,  and  odoriferous  bowers, 
Unfading  forests,  never-dying  flowers  ; 
Emits  that  on  fragrant  trees  immortal  grow, 
Elvers  that  murmur  sweetly  as  they  flow. 
And  gardens  decked  with  everlasting  spring. 
And  shining  warblers  on  the  tireless  wing. 
No  howling  tempest  breaks  the  sweet  repose, 
No  piercing  thorn  surrounds  the  blushing  rose, 
No  sultry  heat  parches  those  blooming  plains, 
No  night  is  known  where  day  forever  reigns  ; 
No  thunder's  roar,  no  lightning's  vivid  glare. 
No  darkened  sky,  disturbs  the  beauty  there. 

The  royal  city,  the  divine  abode 

Of  ransomed  men  and  their  eternal  God, 

Rises  'mid  blooming  bowers  and  lofty  trees. 

And  waves  its  banners  to  the  gentle  breeze. 

Upon  its  pearly  gates  and  shining  walls 

A  flood  of  everlasting  glory  falls. 

And  tinges  with  its  own  delightful  glow 

The  lovely  river  murmuring  Ijelow. 

That  river  from  the  living  fountain  springs. 

And,  guided  by  the  mighty  King  of  kings. 

It  wanders  through  the  saints'  celestial  home. 

Where,  robed  in  white,  the  ransomed  nations  roam 

Through  golden  streets,  and  gardens  fair  and  free ; 

And  on  its  banks  stands  life's  unfading  tree. 

All,  all  is  bliss,  and  love,  and  glory  there ; 

No  pain,  no  sickness,  no  corroding  care. 

No  grief,  no  aching  hearts,  no  tearfvil  eyes, 


PATIHOTIC    POEMS.  91 

No  broken  bands,  and  there  no  severed  ties ; 
For,  o'er  those  broad  and  beautiful  domains 
The  Prince  of  peace,  the  great  Immanuel  reigns. 
The  good  have  met,  of  every  age  and  land. 
Around  the  throne  a  glorious  throng  they  stand  ; 
The  crown  of  life,  the  blood-washed  robes  they  wear. 
The  conqueror's  palms  of  victory  they  bear ; 
They  bend  the  knee,  they  raise  the  joyful  eye  ; 
And  hark !  Oli,  hark  !  that  vast  assembly  cry  : 
"  Worthy  the  Lamb  to  be  exalted  thus. 
Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us  ! " 
And  angels  with  the  ransomed  millions  sing, 
"  Glory  and  honor  to  our  God  and  King  ! " 


i^cm\mMa, 


A  WELCOME  TO  A  TEMPERANCE  PICNIC. 

Old  and  young  are  welcome  here 

To  the  banquet  we  have  spread : 
It  will  cause  no  bitter  tear 

When  the  festal  hour  is  fled ; 
It  will  break  no  mother's  heart, 

For  the  deadly  bowl  we  shun  ! 
Welcome  then — and  when  we  part 

Blessings  go  with  every  one. 


I  The  following  lines  were  also  written  by  Miss  JoHJfsONfor 
a  temperance  picnic,  held  in  a  grove  near  her  fathei-'s  house. 
They  were  read  by  her  brother  Edwin,  now  a  lawyer  in  Stan- 
stead,  P.  Q.] 

From  north  and  south,  from  east  and  west 
They  come  with  banners  gay ; 

Hope  lights  each  eye  and  fills  each  breast, 
And  all  are  friends  to-day. 

The  fairest  of  the  sister  band — 
With  greeting  most  sincere, — 

Magog  extends  an  eager  hand, 
And  bids  you  welcome  here  ! 

Hail,  brothers  in  a  noble  cause, 
'Tis  well  we  thus  should  meet : 

For  every  meeting  closer  draws 
The  bonds  of  union  sweet. 


TEMPER  AX  CE.  93 

And  we  who  battle  for  the  right, 

And  breathe  the  solemn  vow 
To  win  or  perish  in  the  fight, 

Should  be  united  now. 

Up,  brothers,  up  !  to  arms  !  to  arms  ! 

The  sword  must  needs  be  drawn  : 
These  are  indeed  no  vain  alarms, 

The  foe  is  marching  on ! 

And  shall  he  blight  our  happy  land 

With  his  polluting  breath  ? 
And  scatter  woe  on  every  hand. 

And  iiifamy  and  death  ? 

By  yonder  mountain  and  by  lake 

Which  their  approval  show, — 
For  each  beloved  Township's  sake, 

We  boldly  answer — No  ! 

Then  let  our  banners  be  unfurled, 

'Mid  scorn  or  'mid  applause ; 
We  dare  proclaim  to  all  the  world 

We  love  the  temperance  eaiise! 


A  LIFE-SCENE-THE  LETTER. 

"  I'm  at  work  upon  the  railroad ''- 
So  the  brother's  letter  ran, — 
"  I'm  at  work  upon  the  railroad. 
With  the  wages  of  a  man. 

"  I  am  up  at  peep  of  morning. 
And  I  only  stop  to  eat ; 
But  I  bear  it  all  extremely  well 
Except  the  noon-day  heat. 


94  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

"  I  do  not  feel  mucli  homesick, 

Though  I  think  of  other  scenes, 
And  what  you  have  for  dinner 
When  I  eat  my  pork  and  beans  ! 

"  'Tis  the  time  for  pies  and  dumplings, 
Currant  jelly  and  all  that, 
For  an  hour  in  mother's  pantry 
I'd  give  my  bran-new  hat. 

"  You  wrote  about  the  chickens. 
About  the  crops  and  hay ; 
But  not  a  word  about  the  colts — 
The  black  one  or  the  gray. 

"  Tell  father  not  to  worry 
About  that  note  at  all : 
I  shall  have  a  hundred  dollars 
I  can  send  him  in  the  fall. 

"  You  cannot  think  how  proudly 
It  makes  my  bosom  swell. 
To  think  that  I  am  toiling 
For  those  I  love  so  well. 

"  Tell  mother  I  remember 
Her  parting  words  to  me  ; 
And  all  that  she  has  prayed  for 
I  hope  I  yet  may  be. 

"  The  workmen  bring  the  bottle. 
They  say,  '  Just  take  a  sip ; ' 
But,  mother,  7iot  a  single  drop 
Shall  ever  touch  my  lip. 

"  Here's  a  kiss  for  brother  Charley — 
The  little  roguish  elf, 


TEMPERAIfCE.  95 

I  hope  he'll  not  forget  me, — 
And  another  for  yourself. 

"  How  much  I  want  to  see  you 
I  will  not  try  to  tell ; 
I  never  knew  I  loved  my  home 
And  all  my  friends  so  well ! 

"  My  lamp  is  burning  dimly, 
So,  sister  dear,  good-night ; 
Think  often  of  your  brother, 
And  don't  forget  to  write." 

The  sister  read  the  letter 

With  a  look  of  pride  and  joy ; 

And  the  father  and  the  mother  said, 
"  God  bless  the  darling  boy  ! " 


THE  PLEDGE. 

[Whether  the  following  is  a  real  or  a  supposed  case  we  know 
that  in  this  fallen  world  of  ours  there  have  heen  many  sadder 
scenes  than  the  one  depicted;  for  "who  hath  woe  ?  who  hath 
sorrow  ?  who  hath  contentions  ?  who  hath  babbling  ?  who 
hath  wounds  without  cause  ?  who  hatli  redness  of  eyes  ? 
They  that  tarry  long  at  the  wine;  they  that  go  to  seek  mixed 
wine.  ...  At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  sting- 
eth  like  an  adder."— Prov.  23  :  29-35.] 

Pakt  I. 

All  day  the  snow  came  silently  to  earth, 
Until  the  branches  of  the  apple  trees 
Bent  lower  than  in  autumn  'neath  their  weight 
Of  glossy  fruit :  the  youthful  pines  that  stood, 
With  leafless  beech  and  maple  interspersed. 


96  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

To  speak  of  summer  when  all  else  that  laughed 
111  balmy  air  with  summer  should  depart, 
Were  robed  in  white,  save  where  some  little  twig 
Of  deepest  verdure  timidly  looked  forth. 
Like  gentle  Spring  reclining  in  the  arms 
Of  stern  old  Winter.     Silence  reigned  abroad  ; 
■  There  was  no  sun,  no  sky,  but  over  all 
A  dense  dark  mist  which  hid  the  blue  beyond. 

The  cottager  had  tarried  long  that  day 

Within  the  village  inn,  and  night  drew  near 

And  found  him  at  his  glass ;  then  rose  the  wind 

And  hurled  the  snow  against  the  window  pane. 

"  Come,  father,  come  "  ;  a  little  hand  was  laid 

Upon  the  father's  arm,  and  into  his 

A  pair  of  pleading  eyes  looked  gently  up. 

"  Come,  father,  come  ;  the  Avind  begins  to  blow, 

And  mother  Avaits  and  watches  all  alone." 

He  heeded  not  the  warning ;  to  the  bar 

He  gaily  turned,  and  cried,  "  Another  glass  I " 

The  glass  was  drained,  and  yet  another  filled, — 

And  still  the  pleader  cried,  "^  Come,  father,  come." 

"  The  night  is  cold,"  one  thoughtless  comrade  said 
"  And  you  have  far  to  walk  ;  here,  drink,  my  boy. 
The  child  pushed  back  the  tempter's  hand,  a  glow 
Of  indignation  mantling  cheek  and  brow, — 
"My  mother  says  there's  poison  in  the  cup, 
And  I  will  never  drink,"  he  firmly  said. 
The  father  gave  him  an  approving  smile. 
Patted  his  rounded  cheek,  and  stroked  his  curls. 
Then  heaved  a  sigh — while  o'er  his  manly  face. 
Which  had  been  handsome  ere  the  fatal  wine 
Disfigured  it,  a  mournful  shadow  crept 
And  darkened  all  his  soul,     "  Come,  father,  come  : " 


TEMPEKANCE.  97 

This  time  he  listened,  clasped  the  little  hand, 
And  they  went  forth  together  in  the  storm. 

The  wind  blew  fiercely  from  the  north  and  east, 
"And  called  its  forces  from  the  neighboring  hills  ; 
They  heard  the  summons,  eager  to  obey, 
And  swej)t  along  in  one  continuous  roar. 
They  caught  tlie  snow  new-fallen  from  the  earth 
And  wove  a  sheet  with  which  to  blind  the  eyes 
Of  those  two  wanderers  on  the  frozen  waste. 
Then  night  came  on  ;  dark  night  came  suddenly, 
And  hid  within  its  bosom  bush  and  tree. 
And  all  that  stood  as  waymarks  to  their  home. 
The  little  winding  path  they  trod  that  morn 
Was  now  a  path  no  more ;  yet  had  his  brain 
Been  clear  as  on  the  morn,  his  step  as  firm, 
The  father  might  have  found  his  homeward  way. 
But  oft  the  earth  seemed  reeling  'neath  his  feet. 
And  once  he  fell,  then  nerved  himself  anew 
To  struggle  with  the  storm. 

"  How  long  the  way ! 
Dear  father,  are  we  almost  home  at  last  ?  " 
Through  teeth  that  chattered  came  the  words  half- 
formed, 
And  droits  of  dew  stole  from  his  anxious  eyes 
And  turned  to  pearly  ice-drops  where  they  fell. 
And  then  the  father  took  the  patient  boy 
Within  his  arms  ;  he  hugged  him  to  his  breast 
And  tried  with  steady  gaze  to  pierce  the  gloom 
If  he  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  friendly  lights. 
Or  haply  of  the  lamp  that  burned  for  liim 
In  his  own  cottage,  fed  by  one  who  watched. 
And  wept,  and  prayed,  and  turned  the  cottage  door 
Upon  its  frosty  hinges,  till  her  fair  cheek 
Grew  purple  with  the  cold ;  he  thought  of  this. 


98  CANADIAN    AVILD    FLOWEKS. 

And  anguish  and  remorse  smote  heavily. 

But  deeper  groAV  the  night ;  and  hours  that  seemed 

Like  years  to  that  distracted  fathc-r  passed. 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  his  aching  breast 

He  lield  the  child — for  hope  grcAV  faint  within ; 

Yet  with  that  j^recious  burden  at  his  heart 

He  could  not  quite  despair.     "  If  I  have  sinned, 

If  I  am  seen  in  Heaven's  all-searching  light 

Black  and  polluted,  yet  my  child  is  pm-e, 

And  for  the  father's  sin  he  should  not  die. 

Guard  him,  ye  angels  !     Save  him,  0  my  God  ! " 

Thus  in  the  depths  of  his  own  soul  he  prayed, 

And  chafed  again  the  little  trembling  hands, 

And  kissed  the  cheek  so  cold  it  spoke  of  death. 

"  Let  me  kneel  down,  dear  father ;  let  me  pray. 

For  I  am  weary — I  will  sleep  awhile  ; 

But  ere  I  sleep,  dear  father,  let  me  pray." 

And  round  his  father's  neck  he  twined  his  arms, 

And  faintly  whispered  half  his  evening  prayer. 

0  wretched  father !     0  polluted  man ! 

Is  it  the  wind  that  makes  thee  shiver  thus  ? 

Part  II. 

All  day  the  snow  came  silently  to  earth. 

Until  the  path  before  the  cottage  door 

Was  even  with  the  drift  on  either  side. 

No  foot  disturbed  the  mass  of  crystals  white, 

B-ut  wdien  the  wind  began  to  roar  and  shriek, 

And  Night  descended,  with  her  sable  wing 

Darkening  the  scene  around,  a  pallid  face 

Which  had  been  pressed  against  the  window  pane 

For  half  an  hour,  came  forth  into  the  gloom. 

As  looks  the  moon  ujoon  some  stormy  night 

When  every  star  is  quenched,  and  she  alone 

Through  rifted  clouds  peers  forth  and  keeps  her  watch : 


TEMPERANCE.  99 

So  looked  tliat  wife  and  mother  as  she  stood 

Upon  the  threshold  gazing  down  the  road 

With  chattering  teeth,  and  limbs  that  qnaked  with 

cold, 
Imagining  she  heard  in  every  gust 
The  voice  and  footfall  of  the  man  she  loved. 

The  hearth  was  piled  with  blazing  logs  that  shed 

A  cheerful  glow  upon  the  cottage  Avails ; 

The  table  spread  for  three  before  it  stood, 

And  yet  the  bread  was  all  unbroken  there, — 

And  from  the  cottage  to  the  garden  gate 

A  shivering  form  went  flitting  to  and  fro. 

Despair  was  on  her  cheek — and  in  her  eye 

A  mother's  anguish :  "But  they  might  have  seen 

How  fierce  a  storm  was  gathering — might  have  stayed." 

And  while  the  hope  was  fresh  within  her  heart 

She  hurried  in,  but  only  to  return 

And  take  her  station  at  the  door  again. 

The  moments  slowly  lengthened  into  hours, 
The  air  grew  chilly — for  upon  the  hearth 
A  few  decaying  embers  smoked  alone ; 
And  pale  with  midnight  vigils  and  with  gi-ief 
The  watcher  knelt  to  find  relief  in  prayer. 
Then  hark !  a  sound — a  footstep — and  she  starts  ! 
Her  heart  leaps  to  her  throat,  and  with  a  bound 
She  gains  the  cottage  door — it  opens  wide. 

A  cry  of  joy  is  trembling  on  her  lips, 
For  there  the  husband  and  the  father  stood. 
She  stretched  her  eager  arms  to  take  the  boy, 
But  in  the  movement  caught  the  father's  eye 
Where  horror  sat,  and  told  the  dreadful  tale 
He  dared  not  trust  his  quivering  lips  to  speak. 
"317/  hoy  is  dead,'^  she  cried  ;  "  my  boy,  my  boy  !  " 


100  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

And  caught  liim  wildly  to  her  bursting  heart. 

Cold  on  her  bosom  fell  the  little  head 

Which  had  been  pillowed  there  so  oft  in.  sleep,— 

And  as  she  raised  the  frosty  lid  which  veiled 

The  violet  eye  beneath  that  lately  laughed, 

So  deejD  a  groan  escaped  her  pallid  lips 

The  guilty  husband  shuddered  as  he  heard. 

"  Too  late,". he  muttered  in  a  husky  tone, 

And  like  an  image  of  despair  he  stood, 

Until  she  called  him  weeping  to  her  side, 

And  murmured  in  a  voice  half  choked  with  sobs : 

"  Nay,  not  too  late,  my  husband,  not  too  late : 

God  takes  the  child  in  mercy  and  in  love, 

To  save  the  father.     Shall  it  not  be  so  ? 

Say  by  the  love  we  bore  this  precious  child. 

Our  own  no  longer — shall  it  not  be  so  ?  " 

The  answer  came,  so  low  she  scarcely  heard. 

But  'twas  enough,  and  she  looked  up  and  smiled  I 


digits  on  ^^Icirtality. 


WHAT  IS  YOUR  LIFE  ? 

Why  do  we  mourn  ?  why  do  we  sigh  ? 

We  who  may  to-morvow  lie 

With  folded  hands  and  death-sealed  eye  ? 

A  brave  and  gallant  heart  I  knew : 
Like  some  young  sturdy  oak  he  grew 
Nursed  by  the  sun,  refreshed  by  dew. 

His  hopes  were  bright  and  high  their  aim 
Above  reproach  or  fear  of  shame 
None  ever  lightly  spoke  his  name. 

He  left  our  cottage  blithe  and  gay, 
And  as  he  left  we  heard  him  say, 
"  I  will  return  at  close  of  day." 

We  watched  him  as  he  passed  along, 
He  was  so  manly,  brave  and  strong, 
Oh,  was  the  pride  we  cherished  wrong  ? 

We  thought  of  him  as  one  designed 
To  bless  and  elevate  mankind, — 
And  it  was  well  that  we  were  blind ! 

We  did  not  see  the  gathering  frown, — 
But  long  before  the  sun  went  down, 
A  dreadful  rumor  filled  the  town. 

They  told  us  gently  he  was  dead, — 
I  would  not  credit  what  they  said : 
But  when  I  kncAV  it  reason  fled. 


102  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEKS. 

I  woke  to  real  life  once  more ; 
My  dream  of  happiness  was  o'er — 
I  stood  upon  a  desert  shore. 

All  da}'- 1  heard  the  billows  moan, 

All  night  I  answered  groan  with  groan, 

For  I  was  desolate  and  lone. 

There  came  no  message  o'er  the  sea, 
No  message  from  the  lost  to  me, 
And  I  repined  at  God's  decree. 

The  bolt  was  spared — and  o'er  my  head  , 
The  bow  of  mercy  shone  instead, 
And  I  at  last  was  comforted. 

Now  when  the  billows  rage  and  roar, 
I  think  it  shortly  will  be  o'er, — 
'Tis  calm  upon  the  other  shore. 

I  look  at  Time  as  one  who  sees 
A  pale  leaf  floating  on  the  breeze 
Amid  a  grove  of  noble  trees. 

It  fills  awhile  a  little  nook  ; 

To-day  it  is — to-morrow,  IooIl  ! 

The  great  white  Throne  !  tlie  open  Book  ! 

We  stand  upon  a  narrow  space, 

Eternity  rolls  on  apace — 

Where  next  shall  be  our  resting-place  ? 


LIFE. 


As  when  the  graceful  bark,  with  spreading  sails, 

Glides  from  the  port  into  the  open  sea. 
Wafted  along  by  soft  and  prosperous  gales, 


SIGHS    ON    MORTALITY. 


103 


Just  as  the  rising  sun  bids  darkness  flee ; 
So,  like  that  bark,  in  early  youth  are  we, 

When  first  we  launch  upon  the  sea  of  life — 
Our  hopes  as  bright,  our  youthful  souls  as  free. 

The  scene  around  with  love  and  beauty  rife. 
And  all  unknown  to  us  its  griefs,  its  cares  and  strife. 

■   The  bark  glides  on ;  but,  see,  the  azure  sky 
"Vyith  dark  and  angry  clouds  is  soon  o'ercast ; 
The  thunders  roar,  the  forked  lightnings  fly. 

The  billows  beat,  and  howls  the  midnight  blast ! 
The  trembling  vessel,  with  dismantled  mast. 
The  maddened  waves  have  in  their  fury  tossed, 
•  Until  she  lies  a  helpless  wreck  at  last. 

Her  plans  all  thwarted,  and  her  hopes  all  crossed. 
Her  guiding  star  obscured,  and  her  direction  lost. 

'Tis  thus  with  life  ;  at  times  deemed  most  secure. 

When  all  seems  calm,  and  beautiful,  and  fair, 
Dark  rocks  concealed,  the  easier  to  allure. 

The  fragile  bark  in  youth's  bright  morn  ensnare  ; 
And  storms  arise,  and  fierce  the  lightnings  glare. 

And  wild  and  high  the  raging  billows  roll. 
While  sinks  the  heart  a  wreck  in  deep  despair, 

Till,  brightly  o'er  the  dark  and  dreary  pole. 
The  Morning  Star  appears  to  the  benighted  soul ! 

It  guides  the  bark  across  life's  troubled  sea, — 

It  points  the  way  unto  the  destined  shore. 
Till,  anchored  in  a  blest  eternity. 

It  buftets  with  the  howling  storm  no  more. 
Be  ours  that  star  to  guide  us  safely  o'er ! 

To  us,  oh,  may  may  its  precious  light  be  given ! 
And  though  the  tempests  beat  and  billows  roar, 

And  though  we  now  by  adverse  winds  are  driven, 
We'll  safely  anchor  soon  in  the  blest  port  of  Heaven ! 


104  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

THE  SILENT  ARMY. 

Life  is  the  road  to  death.  No  one  can  lose  the  way 
— 'tis  sure  and  plain.  Whatever  paths  we  take  all 
end  the  same.  Some  walk  in  sunshine,  and  some  be- 
neath a  cloud ;  some  gather  flowers  and  some  the 
thorn ;  but  at  the  gate  all  stand  alike :  nor  poverty, 
nor  wealth  can  enter  there. 

To  those  who  smile,  and  those  who  weep, 
To  those  who  sing,  and  those  who  sigh, 

There  comes  the  same  long  final  sleep, — 
There  comes  the  time  when  each  must  die. 

We  watch  the  faces  as  they  pass  — 
We  say  of  some,  "  How  very  fair  "  : 

Nor  think  how  soon  the  churchyard  grass 
Will  thrive  upon  the  beauty  there. 

The  objects  of  our  love  we  take 

Close  to  our  hearts  and  call  them  ours  ! 

They  are  the  gods  we  ne'er  forsake. 

But  crown  them  every  morn  with  flowers. 

We  dip  them  o'er  and  o'er  again 
In  love's  immortal  fount ;  but  when 

We  find  that  all  has  been  in  vain, 
God  shield  vis  in  oiir  anguish  then. 

The  Death-drum  beats,  the  roll  is  called, 
New  names  are  on  the  list  to-day  : 

Some  answer  calm  and  unappalled 
As  if  'twere  pleasure  to  obey. 

For  life  to  them  was  full  of  pain. 
Death  opened  wide  the  only  door, 


SIGHS    OX    MORTALITY.  105 

While  others  weep  and  plead  in  vain 
For  just  one  little  moment  more. 

Through  all  the  springs  that  come  and  go, 

At  noon,  at  night,  at  early  dawn, 
Through  summer's  heat  and  winter's  snow, 

That  silent  army  marches  on  ! 

On,  on  forever  to  the  tomb  ! 

They  pitch  no  tents  along  the  way  ; 
On,  on,  it  is  the  common  doom. 

There's  no  return  and  no  delay. 

They  take  no  purse  nor  scrip  with  them 

However  rich  they  were  before  ; 
The  brow  of  beauty  wears  no  gem, 

And  slaves  are  men — and  kings  no  more. 

From  every  land,  and  sea,  and  clime, 
Through  all  the  ages  that  are  gone, 

Through  all  the  years  of  future  time. 

That  host  has  marched — will  still  march  on. 

And  shall  we  of  to-morrow  boast  ? 

This  very  night  may  seal  our  doom 
And  find  us  with  that  shadowy  host. 

Whose  line  of  march  is  for  the  tomb ! 

Death  and  the  tomb  !  our  hearts  rebel, 
And  Avonder  why  such  things  should  be  ; 

Great  God,  who  doeth  all  things  well. 
We  leave  these  mysteries  with  Thee  ! 

Thou  knowest  why,  and  we  shall  know 
When  raised  in  triumph  from  the  grave, 

Eedeemed  from  death,  and  sin,  and  woe. 
Through  Him  who  hath  the  power  to  save. 


106  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

THE  DYING  WARRIOR. 

A  warrior  lay,  with  a  heaving  breast, 

On  the  field  of  the  dying  and  dead  ; 
His  cheek  was  pale  and  his  lips  compressed. 
And  the  fading  light  from  the  distant  west 

Shone  o'er  his  gory  bed. 

The  night  came  on,  and  the  moon  arose 

With  her  soft  and  tremulous  glow  ; 
She  shed  her  light  o'er  friends  and  o'er  foes, 
All  slee|)ing  together  in  dull  repose 

On  the  battle-field  below. 

The  warrior  gazed  with  a  mournful  sigh 

On  the  blue  and  the  star-spangled  dome  ; 
While  tears  shone  bright  in  his  sunken  eye. 
And  vivid  thoughts  like  the  lightning  fly 
To  his  childhood's  distant  home. 

He  thought  of  the  mother  who  used  to  bead 
O'er  his  couch,  when  in  sorrow  and  pain — 

Who  to  his  complaints  an  ear  would  lend ; 

But  alas  !  he  knew  that  that  dearest  friend 
Would  never  bend  o'er  him  again. 

He  thought  of  the  scenes  where  once  he  strayed 

With  his  brothers  in  days  of  yore  ; 
He  thought  of  the  stream,  the  peaceful  glade. 
The  cottage  that  stood  in  the  dark  green  shade, 

With  the  vines  around  the  door. 

He  thought,  with  a  pang  of  dark  despair, 
^Twas  the  hour  they  all  used  to  meet 

With  grateful  heart  for  the  evening  prayer  ; 

He  thought  of  the  group  that  were  gathered  there ; 
He  thought — of  a  vacant  seat. 


SIGHS    OX   MORTALITY.  107 

He  knew  that  a  fervent  prayer  would  rise 
For  the  loved  and  the  long-absent  one ; 
He  knew  that  the  tears  would  flow  from  their  eyes, 
And  his  father's  voice  wuuld  be  choked  with  sighs, 
As  he  prayed  for  his  erring  son. 

He  knew  for  him  they  would  all  implore 

A  renewed  and  a  sanctified  heart ; 
That  when  the  toils  of  this  life  were  o'er 
They  all  might  embrace  each  other  once  more, 

Never,  no  never  to  part ! 

One  trembling  hand  to  his  brow  he  pressed. 
And  the  tears  of  contrition  he  shed ; 

He  implored  for  pardon,  a  home  with  the  blest ; 

Then  he  wrapped  his  cloak  round  his  gory  breast. 
And  the  warrior's  spirit  fled  ! 


ON  SEEING  A  SKULL 

This  morning  while  examining  a  skull  strange  emo- 
tions took  possession  of  me — such  as  I  never  before 
experienced.  That  senseless  skull  had  once  been  the 
seat  of  deep  thought  and  powerful  passions ;  beaming 
eyes  once  glistened  brightly  where  now  there  was  only 
a  hollow  space ;  that  head  was  once  proudly  erected, 
and  the  form  that  supported  it  once  mingled  in  the 
busy  scenes  of  life.  But  now  Avhat  a  change !  His 
very  name  is  forgotten — himself  but  a  handful  of 
dust.  0  mortals  !  behold,  and  learn  a  lesson.  His 
body  has  long  since  mouldered  away  and  mingled 
with  the  parent  earth, — this  skull  alone  remains  ;  and 


lOS  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

yet  the  time  will  surely  come,  and  cannot  be  far  dis- 
tant, wlien  "  the  bones  shall  come  together — ^bone  to 
his  bone";  when  the  sinews  and  the  flesh  shall  come 
upon  them,  the  skin  cover  them,  and  the  breatn  enter- 
ing the  body  the  dead  shall  live !  Will  this  skull 
come  forward  at  "the  resurrection  of  the  just,"  or 

?     Oh,   what   an   awful    thought !     My    very 

blood  runs  cold,  and  a  shudder  steals  over  me.  0 
thou  great  Mediator  of  mankind,  intercede  for  me  be- 
fore thy  Father's  throne,  that  ere  it  is  everlastingly 
too  late  my  unworthy  name  may  be  written  in  the 
Lamb's  book  of  life.     {July  5,  1852.) 


THOUGHTS  ON  DEATH. 

A  bride  but  yesterday — all  hope  and  love, — 
Flowers  at  her  feet  and  cloudless  skies  above. 
Bright  buds  of  promise  twining  round  her  brow, 
Approach — approach  and  gaze  upon  her  now  ! 
Come  not  in  festal  robes  as  once  ye  came. 
The  bride  is  here  but  she  is  not  the  same 
As  when  ye  saw  her  to  the  altar  led, 
And  called  down  blessings  on  her  fair  young  head. 
The  cheek  is  pale  that  with  the  rose  could  vie, 
There  is  no  lustre  in  that  rayless  eye, 
Upon  those  pallid  lips  there  is  no  breath, 
And  she  alas  is  now  the  bride  of  Death  ! 
Henceforth  what  soul  will  ever  dare  to  trust 
In  things  that  crumble  at  a  breath  to  dust  ? 
And  who  would  dream  of  earthly  joy  and  bliss 
Taught  by  a  lesson  terrible  as  this  ? 


SIGHS    OX    MORTALITY.  109 

Short-siglited  mortal  hastening  to  the  tomb, 

Gaze  on  the  scene,  and  realize  thy  doom ! 

All  tongues  and  nations  mingle  with  the  clay  ; 

Art  thou  less  subject  unto  death  than  they  ? 

The  conquerors  of  the  world  have  left  their  throne 

Before  a  mandate  mightier  than  their  own, — 

Eank,  pride  and  power  have  sunk  into  the  grave, 

And  Caesar  moulders  with  the  meanest  slave. 

Canst  thou  escape  his  all-destroying  breath 

And  bid  defiance  to  the  victor  Deatli  ? 

What  strange  enchantment  has  allured  thine  eyes  ? 

Shake  off  the  spell !  immortal  soul,  arise ! 

Oh,  burst  thy  fetters  ere  it  be  too  late, 

Eegain  thy  freedom  and  thy  lost  estate, — 

A  thousand  angels  hover  round  thy  track. 

They  plead  with  thee,  they  long  to  lead  thee  back. 

The  sacrifice  too  great  ?  betliink  thee,  soul ! 
A  few  more  suns  above  thy  head  may  roll, 
A  few  at  most  and  thou  Avilt  trembling  stand 
Just  on  the  borders  of  the  spirit  land. 
Who  ever  stood  there  calm  and  undismayed. 
And  smiled  to  see  all  earthly  prospects  fade  ? 
Not  he  who  lived  for  things  of  time  alone, 
AVho  won  a  name,  a  fortune  or  a  throne  ; 
Who  added  field  to  field,  and  store  to  store. 
And  cried  at  last,  "  Oh,  for  one  moment  more  !  " 
But  he  whose  eye  could  pierce  the  dreary  tomb, 
He  who  could  say  amid  the  gathering  gloom, — 
"  There  is  my  home  and  there  my  Saviour  stands 
With  smiling  brow  and  with  extended  hands  ! " 
Would'st  thou  depart  with  that  exulting  cry, 
In  glorious  hope  of  immortality  ? 
Thy  heart  all  joy,  and  praise  thy  latest  breath  ? 
The  hohj  life  insures  the  happy  death  ! 
Oh,  thou  wilt  wonder  in  that  trying  hour 


110  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

When  home,  and  love,  and.  friendship  lose  their  power 
To  cheer  and  comfort,  thou  could'st  ever  prize 
What  then  will  sink  to  nothing  in  thine  eyes — 
Time  for  repentance  then  ?  beware  !  beware  ! 
How  many  souls  are  yearly  shipwrecked  there  ! 
Like  him  of  old  they  cry — "  Go  now  thy  way  " — 
And  keep  repentance  for  their  dying  day  ; 
But  God  is  jealous  of  his  honor  still. 
He  asks  a  ready  mind,  a  hearty  will, 
Anc>  those  who  through  a  life-time  break  his  laws, 
Despite  his  mercy  and  his  glorious  cause. 
Who  seek  their  own  enjoyment  and  their  ease, 
And  only  yield  when  death  demandeth  these, — 
May  find  too  late  they  were  deceived  at  last. 
And  mourn  the  summer  and  the  harvest  past ! 

There's  not  in  heaven  itself  a  lovelier  sight. 
Nor  one  which  angels  view  with  more  delight. 
Than  youthful  soldiers  of  Immanuel's  cross. 
In  life's  glad  morning  counting  all  as  loss. 
Since  they  have  proved  a  dying  Saviour's  love, 
And  placed  their  treasures  and  their  hearts  above. 
Let  pleasure  woo  them  with  her  syren  voice. 
They  heed  her  not — they've  made  a  nobler  choice ; 
Let  others  walk  the  shining  path  of  fame. 
They  dare  to  suffer  poverty  and  shame, 
And  turning  from  the  world's  enchanted  bowers, 
To  consecrate  their  youth  and  all  their  powers 
To  Him  they  serve,  and  even  here  they  find 
More  real  pleasure  than  they  e'er  resigned. 

The  best  they  have  in  early  life  they  bring 
A  free-will  offering  to  their  God  and  King  ; 
And  in  that  hour  when  heart  and  flesh  shall  fail, 
Their  song  of  triumph  ringing  through  the  vale. 
Will  mingle  with  the  anthems  of  the  blest, 


SIGHS    ON    MORTALITY.  Ill 

Who  wait  to  hail  them  to  their  heavenly  rest. 
Would'st  thou  depart  with  that  exulting  cry 
In  glorious  hope  of  immortality  ? 
I  read  an  answer  in  that  beaming  face, 
Behold  tliij  Saviour — -fly  to  his  embrace ! 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Strewn  on  the  battle-plain, 
After  the  fight  was  done, 
And  the  bloody  victory  won, 

Were  a  thousand  heaps  of  slain. 

Eider  and  horse  there  lay, 
But  the  war-steed  neighed  no  more, 
And  the  gallant  form  he  bore 

Upon  that  eventful  day, 
Shattered,  and  marred,  and  ghastly  pale, 
Had  fallen  beneath  the  deadly  hail. 

Prince  and  peasant  were  there  ! 
Eich  and  poor,  master  and  slave, 
Wise  and  simple,  timid  and  brave ; 

Old  men  with  snow-white  hair, 

Young  men  of  noble  birth, 
Boys  just  from  their  native  shore, 
And  the  homes  they  shall  see  no  more, 

Stretched  on  the  cold,  damp  earth ; 
And  mother  and  sister  may  watch  in  vain. 
They  never  shall  press  those  lips  again. 

Clasped  in  a  fond  embrace 
Was  a  young  and  gentle  pair, 
And  the  love  that  was  pictured  there 

Made  holy  that  dreadful  place. 

Near  by  a  chieftain  bled, 


112  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

Wliile  his  faithful  dog  still  kept 
A  mournful  watch  where  he  slept, 
And  mourned  above  the  dead, 
Then  gazed  on  the  pallid  lips  and  brow  : 
It  is  death — does  he  comprehend  it  now  ? 

Just  as  they  fell  they  lay — 
Struck  down  in  the  dreadful  strife  ; 
And  the  latest  look  they  wore  in  life 

Death  had  not  taken  away : 

Some  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
Foeman  with  focmen  at  peace, 
Croat,  and  Frank,  and  Tyrolese, 

All  in  one  ghastly  pile, — 
From  the  Seine,  the  Po,  and  the  Land  of  Song, 
Oh,  where  were  the  souls  of  that  countless  throng  ? 

Gone  to  the  bar  of  God  ! 
Gone  from  the  battle's  din. 
Gone  with  their  weight  of  sin. 

To  the  solemn  bar  of  God  ! 

Woe  to  ambition  and  pride  ! 
Woe  to  the  tyrant  king 
Who  dares  from  his  subjects  wring 

What  God  has  never  denied  ! 
Aye,  woe  to  him,  for  the  record  stands, 
And  the  blood  of  the  slain  is  on  his  hands. 


DEAD  AND  FORGOT. 

Dead  and  forgot ! 
How  sad  the  lot 
When  wintry  tempests  blow 
To  lie  all  cold 
'Neath  the  churchyard  mould, 


SIGHS    OX    MORTALITY.  113 

And  in  a  year  or  so 
To  have  onr  very  name  nnsaid, 

Unless  it  chance  to  fall 
From  careless  lips  that  say,  "  She's  dead," — 

She's  dead,  and  that  is  all ! 

But  sadder  still 
That  one  should  fill 
The  place  we  thought  our  own  : 
That  a  form  more  light, 
And  an  eye  more  bright 
Should  guard  our  dear  hearth-stone  ; 
That  where  we  strayed  another's  feet 

At  morn  and  eve  should  roam. 
And  another's  voice — perchance  more  sweet — 
Make  music  in  our  home  ! 

That  where  we  locked 

Our  hands  and  talked 
Amid  our  chosen  flowers. 

The  lips  we  pressed 

Should  be  caressed 
By  other  lips  than  ours, — 
That  other  eyes  should  watch  for  him, 

And  other  arms  embrace, 
Until  our  image  growing  dim 
Yield  to  another's  face. 

And  this  is  love  ! 

0  injured  Dove  ! 
Thy  wings  have  many  a  stain  : 

But  pure  and  white 

In  the  Land  of  Light 
They  shall  be  spread  again ; 
The  deep,  true  love  our  spirits  crave 
Earth  never  has  supplied  ; 


114  CAKADIAiT   WILD    FLOWERS. 

Nor  till  we  leave  the  dreary  grave 
Shall  we  be  satisfied. 


DEAR  EMILY. 

Dear  Emily,  sweet  Emily  ! 

So  early  gone  to  rest, 
I  love  to  think  of  thee  as  one 

Among  the  good  and  blest, — 
No  shadow  on  thy  radiant  eye, 

No  sorrow  in  thy  breast. 

Dear  Emily,  sweet  Emily  ! 

I  cannot  call  thee  dead  : 
'Tis  true  I  do  not  see  thy  face 

Nor  hear  thy  geiitle  tread ; 
Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  sweet  friend, 

Thou  never  canst  be  dead. 

When  by  the  solemn  stream  of  death 

"We  parted  long  ago, 
How  little  of  the  world  we  knew  ! 

But  I  have  lived  to  know 
How  friendship  fades,  how  love  decays. 

How  all  things  change  below. 

Time  changes  some,  and  absence  some. 

And  envy — oh,  the  shame  ! 
Of  those  who  played  together  once 

Some  rise  to  wealth  and  fame, 
While  in  the  vale  of  poverty 

The  rest  remain  the  same. 

But  nothing  now  can  come  between 
Thy  heart  and  mine,  sweet  friend  ! 


SIGHS    ON    MOKTALITY.  115 

With  every  image  of  the  past 

Thy  memory  will  blend, 
And  what  thou  wast  in  early  life 

Thou  wilt  bo  to  the  end. 

I  love  to  think — oh,  call  it  not 

A  fancy  wild  and  vain — 
That  thou  hast  seen  and  pitied  me 

Through  all  these  years  of  pain ; 
But  I  shall  know  how  that  has  been 

When  we  two  meet  again. 

My  bleeding  feet  have  left  their  mark 

Wherever  they  have  passed  ; 
But  now  the  sun  is  getting  low. 

The  shadows  lengthen  fast. 
And  Emily,  dear  Emily, 

All  will  be  well  at  last  ! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

She  sleeps  the  quiet  sleep  of  death  and  I  survive. 
But  for  what  purpose  ?  why  was  not  I  called  first  to 
explore  the  untried  regions  of  eternity  ?  'Tis  known 
only  to  Him  whose  mighty  arm  often  spares  the  hum- 
ble flower  while  the  waving  trees  that  stand  around 
it  are  torn  from  their  roots  by  the  roaring  tempest. 
She  has  gone  before  me,  and  yet  how  long  may  it  bo 
ere  I  shall  follow  her  ?  0  solemn  thought  ! — well 
might  it  sink  deeply  into  my  heart,  and  taking  root 
there  spring  forth  yielding  fruits  of  repentance.  Soon 
may  Death,  the  great  enemy  of  mankind,  add  one 
more   ghastly   victim   to   the   lifeless  piles   that   lie 


116  CAXADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

heaped  together  in  every  clime  and  on  every  shore  ; 
and  when  my  death-knell  shall  sound  will  it  be  the 
signal  of  a  spirit  wailing  in  the  regions  of  the  lost,  or 
rejoicing  in  the  bright  realms  of  everlasting  bliss  ? 
It  is  for  me,  and  me  alone  to  decide.  Perhaps  it  is 
for  this  that  my  life  has  been  spared — that  I  might 
make  a  firm  and  decided  choice ;  and  shall  I  still 
draw  back  ?  shall  I  still  hesitate  and  remain  inactive  ? 
No,  no ;  for  "  now  is  the  accepted  time,  and  now  is 
the  day  of  salvation." 


THE  HEAVENLY  HELPER. 

What  strange  lessoiis  I  am  every  day  learning ! 
Thank  God  for  them.  They  are  very  unpleasant  to 
human  nature,  but  they  are  leading  me  to  place  less 
confidence  in  earthly  love  and  more  in  heavenly.  I 
have  leaned  too  much  upon  an  arm  of  flesh,  and  it  is 
right  I  should  suffer  for  it.  Sweet  Saviour,  fold  me 
in  thine  arms ;  comfort  me  with  thy  love ;  and  as 
soon  as  thou  seest  best  let  me  go  and  live  with  thee 
forever. 

All  earthly  hopes  have  passed  away, 
Stay  with  me,  0  my  Saviour,  stay : 
Thy  blessed  smile  is  all  the  light 
That  breaks  upon  my  dismal  night. 

I  cling  to  thee — thou  must  not  go ; 
Oh,  let  me  tell  thee  every  woe 


SIGHS    ON    3I0RTALITY.  117 

And  whisper  in  thy  ready  ear    " 

What  otlier  friends  would  frown  to  hear. 

Distressed  in  body  and  in  mind, 
Diseased  and  wretched,  poor  and  blind, 
I  only  care  to  see  thy  face, — 
I  only  sigh  for  thy  embrace. 

I  droop,  I  faint  beneath  the  rod. 
It  is  so  heavy,  0  my  God  ! 
Spare  me,  I  cry,  in  mercy  spare, — 
But  thou  refusest  still  the  prayer ! 

«- 
Sometimes  I  murmur  and  repine. 
Prefer  my  stubborn  will  to  thine, 
And  doubt  if  love  or  anger  deal 
The  dreadful  anguish  that  I  feel. 

Then  suddenly  before  me  stands, — 
With  bleeding  side,  and  feet,  and  hands,— 
^^he  Lamb  that  groaned  and  died  for  me, 
That  I  iniglit  live  eternally. 

Such  love  o'erwhelms  me,  and  with  shame 
I  call  upon  thy  holy  name  ; 
Forgive  me,  0  thou  blessed  One, 
And  let  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done. 

O  my  Eedeemer,  Friend  and  Guide, 
Take  health,  take  whet  thou  wilt  beside. 
But  let  me  see  the  lovely  face 
That  makes  a  heaven  of  every  place. 

Nay,  turn  hot  from  my  earnest  prayer  ! 
Thy  smile  can  save  me  from  despair  ; 
The  shadows  deepen  round  my  way. 
Stay  with  me,  0  my  Saviour,  stay. 


118  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWEllS. 

Who  save  thee,  0  God,  knoweth  the  human  heart  ? 
Pity  me,  for  thy  rod  is  heavy.  My  earthly  hopes  are 
all  torn  and  crushed, — oh,  may  they  turn  heaven-ward 
and  there  find  support  and  nourishment.  This  is 
Father's  discipline,  shall  I  murmur  ?  Nay,  but 
rather  rejoice  that  he  does  not  leave  me  to  myself 
but  deals  with  me  as  a  child — chastening,  rebuking, 
scoui'ging  and  refining:  preparing  me  by  all  these 
afilictions  for  the  "  rest  that  remaineth  for  the  people 
of  God."  And  sweet  the  rest  will  be  after  such  a 
weary  journey  !  Ho#  I  shall  fold  my  hands  upon  the 
bosom  that  shall  never  again  be  troubled,  and  say  in 
all  sincerity :  I  thank  thee,  0  God,  for  the  sweet  that 
was  mingled  in  my  earthly  cup,  but  more  do  I  thank 
thee  for  the  bitter. 


THE  PROMISE. 

"  In  early  life  I'm  called  to  part 
With  all  I  hold  so  dear ; 
Strong  tendrils  bind  my  yearning  heart, 
But  cannot  keep  me  here. 

"  I  am  resigned ;  yet  tears  will  fall, 
Sad  thoughts  steal  over  me ; 
And  dost  thou  know  that  with  them  all 
Are  mingling  thoughts  of  thee  ? 

"  We  have  been  friends  in  hopes  and  fears 
In  joys  and  griefs  the  same — 
Since  first  we  learned  in  childhood's  years 
To  lisp  each  other's  name. 


SIGHS    OX    MORTALITY.  119 

"  la  quiet  grove,  in  lonely  dell, 
In  meadows  green  and  fair. 
Beside  the  stream  we  loved  so  well. 
If  one  then  both  were  there. 

"  Together  we  our  plans  have  laid 
With  hopeful  brow  and  heart, — 
When  roving  'neath  the  summer  shade, 
But  never  thought  to  part. 

"  The  spring  will  come,  the  trees  will  wave 
As  when  we  saw  them  last, 
But  thou  wilt  linger  by  my  grave, 
And  muse  upon  the  past. 

"  Beyond  the  portals  of  the  tomb 
I  look  with  joyful  eye  : 
A  glorious  light  dispels  the  gloom, 
'Tis  not  so  hard  to  die. 

"  There  is  a  home  of  rest  divine — 
A  home  prepared  for  me  ; 
But  hours  of  darkness  will  be  thine, 
For  this  I  cling  to  thee. 

"  Hark  !  'tis  the  angel  choirs  above  ; 
I've  but  one  earthly  care, — 
Oh,  promise  me  by  all  our  love 
That  thou  wilt  meet  me  there." 

That  earnest  look — I  see  it  still, 

That  voice — I  hear  it  yet ; 
And  death  this  aching  heart  shall  chill 

Before  it  can  forget. 

The  flowers  have  faded  one  by  one, 
The  summer  birds  are  flown, 


120  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOY/EltS. 

And  'ueatli  a  cold  autumnal  sun 
I  wander  forth  alone. 

The  yellow  leaves  are  falling  fast 
Along  the  river  side, — 

I  watch  them  borne  upon  the  blast, 
And  on  the  swelling  tide. 

I  think  how  all  things  earthly  fade, 
Then  wipe  the  tears  that  flow, 

As  memory  brings  the  promise  made 
So  many  years  ago. 


THE  DEAD  CHRIST. 

The  last  expiring  groan  was  hushed ;  the  beaming 
eye  was  closed — it  wept  no  longer  over  the  sins  of  a 
perverse  race.  Those  gentle  and  lovely  features  Avere 
robed  with  the  pallid  hue  of  death,  and  the  heart  that 
melted  at  the  sorrows  of  mankind  beat  no  longer. 
The  grave,  the  cold  grave,  rejoicingly  closed  its 
dreary  portals  upon  his  sacred  form ;  and  he,  the 
lowly  and  despised  Nazarene,  who  found  no  resting- 
place  for  his  weary  head,  slept  quietly  in  a  borrowed 
sepulchre. 


THE  COMPLAINT. 

Ah !  many  springs  have  come  and  gone, 
And  called  me  forth  in  vain  ; 

Now  winter  folds  the  winding-sheet 
Round  nature's  breast  acjain. 


SIGHS    ON    MORTALITY.  121 

Young  liancls  have  gathered  bright,  wild  flowers. 

Young  feet  have  trod  the  grass, 
But  I  have  watched  in  solitude 

The  mournful  shadows  pass. 

Young  hands  have  gathered  brighter  flowers 

From  wisdom's  pleasant  tree — 
But  darker  still  the  shadows  fall, 

There  are  no  flowers  for  me  ! 

No  flowers  !  where  shadows  deepest  lie 

Amid  the  wint'iy  gloom, 
Thank  God,  I  see  with  kindling  eye 

The  Rose  of  Sharon  bloom  ! 

It  is  enough — my  earthly  hopes 

Are  fading  one  by  one  ; 
My  God  and  ra.y  Redeemer  lives. 

And  may  his  will  be  done. 

I  know  that  in  a  better  world 

I  shall  look  back  and  say 
I  never  could  have  reached  my  home 

By  any  other  way. 

And  such  a  home  !  no  frightful  dreams, 

No  wakings  to  despair — 
No  cries  of — God  remove  the  cup. 

Or  give  me  strength  to  bear  ! 

No  pillows  wet  with  burning  tears, — 

No  longings  wild  and  vain 
To  Avander  in  the  pleasant  fields, 

Or  dear  old  woods  again  ! 

But  love  and  peace,  and  endless  joy, 
And  rest  to  me  how  stranere  ! 


122  CA3lfAI>IA:N   WILD    FLOWERS. 

Lord  give  me  patience  to  await 
The  happy,  haj)py  change  ! 


THE  MIXED  CUP. 

Joy  and  sorrow,  are  they  not  mingled  in  every  cnp  ? 
We  call  some  happy,  others  unfortunate  ;  and  so  they 
appear  to  us.  But  could  we  draw  aside  the  curtain 
that  conceals  the  mysteries  of  the  human  heart  what 
problems  would  he  solved,  and  how  often  we  should 
be  lead  to  exclaim,  "  God  dealeth  justly :  pain  and 
pleasure  are  more  equally  distributed  than  we  imag- 
ined "  !  But  this  may  not  be.  We  judge  according 
to  appearances,  and  this  is  one  great  source  of  mis- 
ery ;  for,  in  our  grief,  we  imagine  others  are  more 
favored  than  we,  and  for  the  blessings  we  do  enjoy  we 
are  not  thankful.  Oh,  the  great  mercy  of  God! 
What  a  wonder  it  is  that  he  does  not  smite  us  to  the 
earth  when  we  dare  murmur  at  his  dealings ! 


I  SHALL  DEPART. 

When  the  floAvers  of  Summer  die, 
When  the  birds  of  Summer  fly. 
When  the  winds  of  Autumn  sigh, 
I  shall  depart. 

When  the  mourning  Earth  receives 
Last  of  all  the  faded  leaves, — 
When  the  wailing  forest  grieves, 
I  shall  depart. 


SIGHS    ON    MORTALITY.  123 

When  are  garnered  grain  and  fruit, 
When  all  insect  life  is  mute, 
I  shall  drop  my  broken  lute  ; 
I  shall  depart. 

When  the  fields  are  brown  and  bare. 
Nothing  left  that's  good  or  fair, 
•  And  the  hoar-frost  gathers  there, 
I  shall  depart. 

Not  with  you,  0  songsters,  no  ! 
To  no  Southern  clime  I. go, — 
By  a  way  none  living  know 
I  shall  depart. 

Many  aching  hearts  may  yearn. 
Many  lamps  till  midnight  burn, 
But  I  never  shall  return. 
When  I  depart. 

Trembling,  fearing,  sorely  tried, 
Waiting  for  the  ebbing  tide, 
Who,  oh  !  who  will  be  my  guide 
When  I  depart  ? 

Once  the  river  cold  and  black 
Eolled  its  waves  affrighted  back, — 
I  shall  see  a  shining  track 
When  I  depart. 

There  my  God  and  Saviour  passed, 
He  will  be  my  guide  at  last, — 
Clinging  to  his  merits  fast, 
I  shall  depart. 

—  Written  hi  1858. 


124  CANADIAN    AVILD    FLOWERS. 

TIME  FLIES. 

Years  are  coming,  years  are  going, 
Be  they  fraught  with  joy  or  pain, — 

Like  a  river  they  are  flowing 
To  the  everlasting  main  ! 

On  the  banks  are  thorns  and  roses, 
And  Ave  take  of  both  a  share 

Till  the  ocean  round  us  closes. 
And  Ave  drop  our  anchor — Avhere  ? 

If  the  future  Avere  uncertain. 
If  across  the  mighty  deep. 

Brushing  back  the  misty  curtain 
Angel  pinions  did  not  SAveep, — 

If  there  were  no  bright  to-morroAv 
For  our  day  of  toil  and  strife. 

Burdened  Avith  its  Aveight  of  sorrow, 
What  a  curse  Avere  human  life ! 

Locks  are  Avliitening,  cheeks  are  paling, 
With  each  month  and  year  that  flies ; 

Youth  and  vigor  both  are  failing. 
But  the  spirit  ncA^er  dies  ! 

Short  indeed  is  our  probation. 
Dark  and  certain  is  the  tomb, — 

But  the  Lamp  of  revelation 
Dissipates  the  fearful  gloom. 

Oh,  Ave  take  our  life  too  sadly, 
Ever  grieve  and  mourn  too  much, 

Turn  to  ashes  what  Avould  gladly 
Turn  to  erold  beneath  our  touch. 


SIGHS    ON   MORTALITY.  125 

'Tis  because  that  in  our  blindness 

We  imagine  God  is  blind, — 
'Tis  because  we  doubt  his  kindness, 

That  we  cannot  be  resigued. 

Nature  cries  amid  the  trials 

That  beset  our  thorny  path : 
"  God  outpoureth  all  the  vials 

Of  his  anger  and  his  wrath  !  " 

Such  complaints  are  more  surprising 

Since  the  declaration  runs  : 
"  If  ye  be  without  chastising, 

Then  indeed  ye  are  not  sons." 

All  our  future  course  He  seeth 

Better  than  we  see  our  past, 
And  whatever  he  decreeth 

We  shall  understand  at  last. 

Let  us  then  in  our  affliction 

Meekly  trust  our  gracious  Lord, — 

Well  assured  his  benediction 
Will  ere  long  be  our  reward. 

Let  us  beautify  the  present, — 

There  is  much  we  all  can  do 
That  will  make  the  year  more  pleasant, 

For  ourselves  and  others  too. 


A  VOICE  FROM  A  SICK-ROOM. 

'^At  one  time  Miss  Johnsox  seems  to  have  entertained  the 
idea  of  Avriting  for  publication  a  series  of  articles  entitled 
"Voices  from  a  Sick-room."  Whether  she  ever  wrote  more 
than  one  or  not  I'cannot  say.     The  following  is  the  only  one 


126  CANADIAN"   ■VniiD    FLOWERS. 

we  can  find  among  her  manuscripts,  and  it  is  so  tlirillingly  in- 
teresting as  to  malce  lis  wisli  for  more.  It  is  dated  Sept.  5, 
1859.] 

Draw  the  curtains — shut  out  the  light  of  heaven ; 
the  inner  world  is  so  full  of  darkness  that  the  sun- 
shine of  the  outer  world  becomes  painful  by  contrast. 
Hush,  little  bird !  don't  sing  to-day.  There — all  is 
dark  and  still.  Now,  0  wretched  heart,  exult  in  thy 
wretchedness ;  draw  the  dark,  heavy  curtains  of  de- 
spair around  thee;  shut  out  the  light  of  hope  and 
love ;  hush  the  voice  of  praise  and  thanksgiving. 
Think  of  all  thou  hast  suffered ;  think  of  thy  present 
misery ;  crowd  the  future  with  black-robed  phantoms ; 
people  every  nook  and  corner  with  horrible  faces,  and 
over  all  let  the  thunder  crash  and  bellow,  and  the 
winds  moan  and  shriek,  as  they  moan  and  shriek  only 
when  the  great  are  dying. 

Ah,  what  sad  havoc  do  sickness  and  pain  make  of 
the  poor  body  ;  but  sadder  still  when  they  trample  on 
the  bright  inhabitant  within,  and  make  it  a  slave  to 
tremble  at  their  bidding  !  "  Bring  chains — bring 
chains,"  cries  the  fell  destroyer ;  and  ere  she  has  time 
to  rally  her  forces  around  her,  or  even  think  of  resist- 
ance, the  poor  Soul  has  become  a  helpless  captive, 
and  Disease  wears  a  smile  of  triumph  upon  her  ghastly 
cheek,  and  again  lifts  up  her  voice  to  shout  "  victory." 
And  a  complete  victory  it  is:  Self-(!ontrol,  Pride, 
Ambition — all  are  humbled;  Hope  is  shrouded  in 
sackcloth,  and  if  she  ever  speaks  it  is  only  to  whis- 
per:   "There   is  one  secret  passage  by   which  thou 


SIGHS    ON"    MORTALITY.  127 

mayest  yet  escape,  but  it  winds  through  the  kiugdom 
of  Death  and  the  Grave."  Eeason  herself  grows 
pale  and  trembles,  lest  she  lose  her  throne ;  for  the 
thousands  of  obedient  servants,  which  have  never  be- 
fore disputed  her  authority,  are  all  up  in  arms  against 
her.  Every  nerve  begins  to  quiver  and  vibrate ;  the 
whole  body  is  in  commotion;  and  no  wonder  the 
trembling  Soul  sits  down  amid  the  ruins  of  her  for- 
mer self  and  makes  the  whole  place  doleful  Avith  her 
cries  and  lamentations. 

Don't  chide  her :  she  is  no  criminal  v/aiting  the 
demands  of  justice,  but  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  there- 
fore should  be  dealt  kindly  with.  Don't  gaze  at  her 
through  her  prison  bars,  as  though  she  were  a  wild 
beast  caged,  or  some  curious  object  kept  only  for  a 
show  ;  but  go  to  her  enveloped  in  the  mantle  of  love, 
upon  your  lips  the  honey-dew  of  human  kindness,  and 
in  your  heart  the  melting  tenderness  of  Christian  affec- 
tion. Don't  tell  her  she  is  escaping  many  trials  and 
temptations  to  Avhich  she  would  be  exposed  if  she 
came  in  contact  with  the  busy  world  around  her.  Go 
to  the  imprisoned  eagle,  and,  as  he  looks  up  longingly 
into  the  deep  blue  sky  and  beats  his  wings  in  agony, 
comfort  him  with  the  assurance  that  his  wants  are 
provided  for,  and  he  himself  safe  from  the  arts  of  the 
fowler !  Aye,  tell  this  to  the  fvee-born  eagle,  but  dis- 
gust not  the  ever-yearning,  restless  Soul  with  such 
mockeries.  She  may  listen,  but  she  laughs  you  to 
scorn  in  secret  and  prays  Heaven  to  be  delivered  from 
such  comforters.     She  knows  her  struggles  and  temp- 


128  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

tations  are  inward ;  and  slie  knows  too,  for  that  very 
reason,  tjiey  are  more  terrible.  Tliere  greater  battles 
have  been  fought  than  the  blood-dyed  fields  of  Europe 
ever  witnessed.  Magentas  and  Solferinas  fatten  with 
the  blood  of  heroes,  but  she  carries  on  a  never  ending 
warfare  "  with  principalities  and  powers  " — the  num- 
berless host  of  hell — and  legions  of  native  passions. 

Deal  gently  with  her.  Would  you  win  her  confi- 
dence ?  There  is  but  one  passage  to  her  affections. 
SjDeak  that  word — bolt  and  bar  fly  open :  she  takes 
you  by  the  hand  and  welcomes  you  to  her  most  sacred 
and  secluded  retreat.  That  word  is  sympathy :  let 
her  feel  it  in  your  tender  embrace,  see  it  in  the  glance 
of  your  eye,  hear  it  in  the  modulation  of  your  voice. 
It  is  for  this  she  yearns  and  sighs,  and  refuses  to  be 
comforted  where  it  is  not. 

Bring  her  flowers — sweet,  beautiful  flowers.  They 
are  meet  companions  for  her  solitude.  Gather  blos- 
soms from  the  whitening  apple-bough,  violets  from 
the  meadow,  dandelions  from  the  wayside.  She  will 
fold  them  more  tenderly  to  her  bosom  than  the  rarest 
plants,  for  their  faces  are  old,  familiar  ones,  and  she 
imagines  they  wear  a  look  of  pity. 

But  there  are  more  precious  things  than  human 
sympathy ;  there  are  sweeter  flowers  than  violets  or 
roses.  They  bloom  on  the  prayer-consecrated  moun- 
tains of  Judea,  amid  the  ancient  olives  of  Gethsem- 
ane,  along  the  Dolorous  Way  trodden  by  the  Man  of 
Sorrows,  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  Gross,  and 
around  the   borrowed   Sepulchre.     Oh,  gather  them 


SIGHS    ON    MORTALITY.  129 

with  no  sparing  hand :  there  are  enough  for  you  and 
her — enough  for  every  sorrowing  heart  in  the  uni- 
verse. Take  them  to  the  poor  sufferer.  Their  fra- 
grance will  make  the  lonely  chamber  like  a  garden  of 
spices ;  the  tearful  eyes  will  turn  heavenward,  and 
the  pale  lips — tremulous  with  contrition  will  whisper, 
"  Father,  forgive  me,  for  I  knew  not  what  I  did  when 
I  murmured  at  thy  dealings."  Then  a  solemn  hush 
will  follow — a  holy  twilight  of  the  soul, — as  if  the 
sorrows  of  earth  were  blending  with  the  joys  of  heav- 
en, the  pains  of  mortality  with  the  blessedness  of  the 
angelic  bards.  Oh,  these  are  the  flowers  for  a  sick- 
room !  How  dreary  and  desolate  does  it  seem  with- 
out them  !  The  strong  and  healthy  may  live  on,  care- 
less and  irreligious,  but  what  would  become  of  the 
poor,  grief-stricken,  despairing  Soul  if  she  could  not 
repose  quietly  in  the  bosom  her  Beloved,  and  say  with 
child-like  simplicity,  morning  and  evening,  "  Our 
Father  who  art  in  heaven  !  " 


^mi}^  of  gop. 


"HE  GIVETH  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT." 

Gloriously  the  sun  sinks  beliind  the  western  hills. 
HaK  the  sky  seems  on  fire,  and  the  other  half 
wreathed  with  light  fantastic  clouds.  All  nature  is 
beautiful — can  I  be  sad  ?  Nay ;  away  with  sadness, 
away  with  sorrow ;  I  will  forget  everything — my 
strangeness,  my  blasted  hopes,  and  seek  for  happiness 
where  happiness  only  is  to  be  found,  in  the  sacred 
Oracles  of  God.— Julij  14,  1852. 

God  sometimes  speaks  in  earthquake  and  in  storm, 
But  oftener  in  the  "  still  small  voice  "  of  love : 
He  urges  men  as  loving  fathers  plead. 
God  is  our  Father,  yet  we  shun  his  face 
And  hide  ourselves  when  at  the  cool  of  day 
He  walketh  in  the  garden  ! 

How  sweet  the  thought  that  God,  our  heavenly 
Father,  is  omniscient.  Our  griefs  are  not  hidden 
from  him.  He  knows  our  hearts,  and  with  all  this 
knowledge  he  is  good — so  tender,  so  pitiful !  Oh,  to 
love  him  as  he  deserves  !  Oh,  for  a  thousand  tongues 
to  sing  his  praises  !  Tell  the  sick,  tell  the  sorrowing, 
tell  the  broken-hearted  of  this  God  ;  tell  the  wretched, 
the  guilty,  the  wayward  prodigal  of  this  gracious 
Father. 


SOXGS    OF    HOPE.  131 

THE  LAST  GOOD  NIGHT. 

[In  the  day  of  health  and  prosperity  everybody  feels  like 
singing,  but  "in  the  night"  of  adversity  grace  must  produce 
the  song  of  holy  confidence  and  hope.  Such  a  song  is  the  fol- 
lowing, which  has  probably  been  printed  oftener  than  any 
other  of  Miss  Johnsox's  poems.  It  has  appeared  in  several 
papers;  finds  a  place  in  Dewart's  ''Selections  from  Canadian 
Poets";  was  set  to  music  by  George  F.  Eoot,  and  appears  in 
his  "School  for  the  Cabinet  Organ."  With  many  it  has 
been  a  favorite.] 

Mother,  good  night !  my  work  is  done, — 
I  go  to  rest  with  the  setting  siin : 
But  not  to  wake  with  the  morning  light, 
So,  dearest  mother,  a  long  good  night ! 

Father,  good  night !  the  shadows  glide 
Silently  down  to  the  river's  side, — 
The  river  itself  with  stars  is  bright. 
So,  dearest  father,  a  long  good  night ! 

Sisters,  good  night !  the  roses  close 
Their  dewy  eyes  for  the  night's  repose — 
And  a  strange,  damp  mist  obscures  my  sight, 
So,  dearest  sisters,  a  long  good  night ! 

Brothers,  good  night !  the  sunset  flush 
Has  died  away,  and  a  midnight  hush 
Has  settled  o'er  plain  and  mountain  hight. 
So,  dearest  brothers,  a  long  good  night ! 

Good  night !  good  night !  nay,  do  not  weep  : 
I'm  weary  of  earth,  1  long  to  sleep — 
I  shall  wake  again  with  the  dawning  light 
Of  eternal  day — good  night,  good  night ! 


132  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

RETROSPECTIVE  AND  PROSPECTIVE. 

I  remember  the  time  when  Ave  went  forth  arm  in 
arm  over  the  newly  mown  fields,  scaring  the  grass- 
hoppers from  onr  pathway,  with  our  baskets  on  our 
arms,  to  gather  the  blueberries  that  hung  in  clusters 
on  their  slender  stalks.  But  thou  art  gone  now  to  the 
fairer  fields  of  paradise,  to  pluck  sweeter  fruit  than 
ever  ripened  here.  Thou  art  gone !  The  blueberry 
bushes  have  fallen  long  ago  before  the  scythe ;  the 
field  has  changed  its  appearance ;  and  as  for  me,  the 
breezes  woo  me  forth  in  vain — I  cannot  go.  Sickness 
and  sorrow  have  come  between  me  and  the  love  of 
earth ;  they  have  cast  a  dark  shadow  over  what  I  once 
thought  fair.  But  as  there  can  be  no  shadow  without 
a  light  beyond  it  I  have  caught  bright  glimpses  of  a 
better  home — a  land  of  life  and  glory. 


HOPE. 


[We  have  no  clue  to  the  time  when  this  was  written.  It  is 
imperfect:  the  second  verse  is  not  complete  in  the  copy.  But 
is  it  not  true  to  life  so  far  as  earthly  hope  is  concerned  ?  Of 
"  the  hope  of  the  gospel  "  our  songstress  would  speak  differ- 
ently.] 

What  a  syren  is  Hope — what  a  charming  deceiver  ! 
She  whispers  so  blandly  you  can  but  believe  her  ; 
The  garments  of  Truth  and  of  Eeason  she  stealeth 
And  every  deformity  thus  she  concealeth. 

When  down  in  the  valley  I'm  talking  with  Sorrow 
She  comes  with  a  song — all  its  burden  to-miorrow  ; 
She  mocks  my  companion        ..... 


SOXGS    OF    HOPE.  133 

Then  she  beckons  me  np  to  the  top  of  a  mountain ; 
She  brings  me  a  draught  from  a  clear,  sparkling  fount- 
ain, 
And  talks  of  the  beautiful  prospect  before  us 
Till  ere  I'm  aware  the  dark  night  settles  o'er  us. 

Sometimes  in  my  anger  I  try  to  elude  her ; 

I  call  her  a  jade  and  an  idle  intruder ; 

But  she  kisses,  caresses,  and  coaxes,  and  flatters 

Till  I  build  me  a  castle  the  next  zephyr  shatters. 

When  I  firmly  resolve  I  will  listen  no  longer, 
Than  my  will  or  my  reason  somehow  she  is  stronger : 
I  chide  her,  deride  her,  despise  her  and  doubt  her, 
And  yet  it  is  true  I  can't  live  Avithout  her  ! 


EARTH  NOT  THE  CHRISTIAN'S  HOME. 

Earth,  with  all  thy  grief  and  sorrow, 
And  thy  changes  of  to-morrow  ; 
With  thy  woe  and  with  thy  parting. 
With  thy  tears  of  anguish  starting. 
With  thy  countless  heart-strings  breaking, 
With  thy  loved  and  lost  forsaking. 
With  thy  famished  millions  sighing. 
With  thy  scenes  of  dead  and  dying. 
With  thy  graveyards  without  number, 
AVhere  the  old  and  youthful  slumber ; 
Earth,  oh,  earth !  thus  dark  and  dreary, 
Cold,  and  sad,  and  worn,  and  weary, 
Thou  art  not  my  home  ! 

Earth,  oh,  earth !  with  all  thy  slaughter 
And  thy  streams  of  blood  like  water 
O'er  the  field  of  battle  gushing. 


134  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWEliS. 

Where  the  mighty  armies  rushing, 
Eeckless  of  all  human  feeling, 
With  the  war  trump  loudly  pealing. 
And  the  gallant  banners  flying, 
Trample  on  the  dead  and  dying  ; 
Where  the  foe,  the  friend,  the  brother. 
Bathed  in  blood  sleep  by  each  other  ; 
Earth,  oh,  earth  !  thus  dark  and  gory, 
Blood  and  tears  make  up  thy  story, 
Thou  art  not  my  home  ! 

Earth,  with  all  thy  scenes  of  anguish. 
Where  the  poor  and  starving  languish, 
To  the  proud  oppressor  bending. 
And  their  cries  for  mercy  blending; 
Where  the  slave  with  bosom  swelling. 
Which  despair  has  made  its  dwelling. 
And  the  scalding  tear-drops  falling — 
Sight  to  human  hearts  appalling — 
Strives,  but  strives  in  vain  to  sever 
Fetters  that  must  bind  him  ever ; 
Earth,  oh,  earth !  with  each  possession 
Sold' to  tyrants  and  oppression, 
Thou  art  not  my  home  ! 

Earth,  oh,  earth  !  thy  brightest  treasures, 
Like  thy  hopes  and  like  thy  pleasures. 
Wintry  winds  are  daily  blighting  ; 
Pain,  and  woe,  and  death  uniting, 
Youth  and  love  and  beauty  crushing, 
And  the  sweetest  voices  hushing  ; 
Rich  and  poor,  and  old  and  blooming, 
To  one  common  mansion  dooming ; 
While  the  cries  of  every  nation 
Mingle  with  those  of  creation; 
Earth,  oh,  earth  !  thus  dark  and  dreary. 


SONGS   OF   nOPE.  135 

Cold,  and  sad,  and  worn  and  weary, 
Tliou  art  not  my  home  ! 

Earth,  oh,  earth  !  though  dark  and  gory, 
In  thy  pristine  state  of  glory 
Angels  came  upon  thee  gazing, 
Songs  of  love  and  rapture  raising ; 
For  thou  then  wast  bright  and  beaming. 
With  the  sunlight  on  thee  streaming, 
With  thy  crystal  waters  laving 
Shores  with  fadeless  forests  waving ; 
Witli  thy  plains  and  with  thy  mountains. 
With  thy  ever-gus)dng  fountains  ; 
Earth,  oh,  earth !  once  fair  and  holy, 
Fallen,  fallen,  and  so  lowly  ; 
Thou  art  not  my  home  ! 

Earth,  oh,  earth  !  bowed  down  by  sorrow, 
Cheer  thee,  for  there  comes  a  morrow  ; 
Night  and  clouds,  and  gloom  dispersing, 
And  thyself,  O  earth,  immersing 
In  a  flood  of  light  undying  ; 
When  the  curse  upon  thee  lying, 
With  its  thousand  woes  attending, 
Death,  and  pain,  and  bosoms  rending. 
Partings  that  the  heart-strings  sever, 
Will  be  banished  and  forever, — 
Earth,  oh,  earth  !  renewed  in  glory. 
Love  and  joy  make  up  the  story ; 
Oh,  be  thou  my  home  ! 

Earth,  although  thou  seem'st  forsaken, 
Yet  a  note  of  praise  awaken  ; 
For  the  angels,  lowly  bending 
Round  the  throne  of  light  unending. 
Gaze  upon  thee,  sad  and  groaning, 


136  CAISTADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

Listen  to  thy  bitter  moaning ; 
Thou  hast  scenes  to  them  amazing, 
While  on  Calvary's  mountain  gazing ; 
And  they  smile  on  every  nation 
Purchased  with  so  great  salvation, — 
Earth,  oh,  earth, !  renewed  in  glory, 
Angels  shall  rehearse  thy  story  ; 
Oh,  be  thou  my  home  ! 

Earth,  the  morn  will  soon  break  o'er  thee, 
And  thy  Saviour  will  restore  thee  ; 
Far  more  bright  and  far  more  blooming, 
And  more  glorious  robes  assuming 
Than  when  first,  o'er  Eden  ringing, 
Angel-voices  were  heard  singing  ; 
For  thy  King  himself  descending. 
Heaven  and  earth  together  blending, 
With  his  saints  a  countless  number, 
Those  who  live  and  those  who  slumber. 
Over  thee  will  reign  victorious, — 
Earth,  oh,  earth,  thus  bright  and  glorious. 
Be  thou  then  my  home  ! 


"WE  SORROW  NOT  AS  OTHERS  WITHOUT  HOPE." 

While  looking  over  an  old  manuscript,  Avritten  by 
one  who  is  long  since  passed  from  time  into  eternity, 
I  met  with  the  following  lines :  "  It  is  six  years  to-day 
since  my  Elsa  died,  aiid  five  months  since  my  Amanda 
left  me  forever.  They  sleep  in  the  grave,  and  there 
they  will  remain  through  endless  years.'^  He  then 
went  on,  in  strains  mournful  and  tender,  and  with  all 
a  father's  sorroAV  deplored  his  loss.     I  could  not  won- 


soxGs  or  HOPE.  137 

der  that  he  wept  the  tears  of  anguish  and  despair  if, 
as  he  said,  they  are  to  remain  in  the  dark  tomb 
through  endless  years.  The  glorious  Eesurrection 
morning  was  unknown  to  him.  He  saw  only  the 
tomb,  and  considered  not  that  there  is  One  who  holds 
the  keys  of  the  grave,  and  who  will  soon  burst  the 
icy  bars  of  death  and  bring  forth  the  righteous  to  im- 
mortality. Truly  that  morning  has  charms  for  the 
Christian.  God  grant  that  if  I  am  called  to  slumber 
for  a  while  I  may  "have  part  in  the  first  resurrec- 
tion."—Jw/ie  22,  1852. 


THE  MESSENGER  BIRD. 

Oh,  fly  away  to  the  better  land, 
Thuu  bird  of  the  snowy  wing  ! 

01),  liy  away  to  the  blood-washed  band. 
And  hear  the  songs  they  sing ! 

But  bear  a  message  from  us,  0  dove. 
To  that  bright  and  happy  throng ; 

For  we  have  friends  whom  we  dearly  love, 
Who  swell  the  Conqueror's  song. 

Oh  tell  them  our  hearts  are  sad  and  lone. 
Our  homes  not  bright  as  of  yore  ; 

Por  we  miss  the  soft,  the  soothing  tone 
Of  the  friends  we  loved  before. 

Oh  tell  them  we  sigh  for  the  better  land. 
For  earth  has  grown  sad  and  chill ; 

And  we  long  rejoicing  with  tliem  to  stand 
On  the  heights  of  Zion's  hill. 


138  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Oil  tell  them  we  long  to  share  their  rest, 

Afar  from  all  earthly  strife  ; 
We  long  to  lean  on  .our  Saviour's  breast, 

And  roam  by  the  tree  of  life. 

Oh  tell  them  our  fondest  hopes  are  there. 

For  our  earthly  hopes  are  o'er ; 
And  we  sigh  for  the  land  all  bright  and  fair — 

We  sigh  for  the  deathless  shore. 

Then  fly  away  to  the  better  land. 

Thou  bird  of  the  snowy  wing ! 
Oh  fly  away  to  the  blood-washed  band, 

And  hear  the  songs  they  sing. 

And  then  return  Avith  the  speed  of  loye, 
When  the  night  grows  dark  and  chill, 

And  tell  us,  oh,  tell  us,  thou  white-winged  dove  ! 
Do  they  love,  do  they  love  us  still  ? 

We  knoAV  there  is  One,  in  that  blissful  home. 
Who  loves  and  remembers  us  yet ; 

Though  weary  and  sorrowful  now  we  roam, 
We  know  that  he  will  not  forget. 

We'll  trust  him  then,  the  great  and  the  strong  ; 

By  his  own  almighty  hand 
He'll  bring  us  soon  Avith  the  blood-washed  throng 

To  the  bright,  the  better  land. 


OUR  SHIP  IS  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

What  though  the  angry  Avaves  are  high. 
And  darkness  reigns  around  ? 

Let  hope  be  bright  in  every  eye, 
Our  ship  is  homoAvard  bound  ! 


SOXGS    OF    HOPE.  139 

What  tliough  nor  moon  nor  stars  appear 

Amid  the  gloom  profound, 
Why  should  we  yield  a  place  to  fear  ? 

Our  ship  is  homoAvard  bound! 

What  though  the  lightnings  glare  above, 

And  deai'ning  thunders  roar. 
When  with  the  eye  of  faith  and  love 

We  view  the  distant  shore  ? 

We  know  that  friends  are  waiting  there 

We  loved  in  life  before  ; 
And  angel  forms  all  bright  and  fair 

Line  the  eternal  shore. 

We've  often  longed  with  them  to  bow 

At  our  Redeemer's  feet, — 
He  loved  us  first,  we  love  Him  now, 

Then  let  the  billows  beat ! 

And  let  them  bear  our  hopes  away, 

Although  they  once  were  sweet. 
We  catch  a  glimpse  of  coming  day — 

Oh,  let  the  billows  beat  ! 

The  coward  peers  with  trembling  form 

Into  the  gloom  profound, 
But  we  can  smile  to  view  the  storm. 

Our  ship  is  homeward  bound  ! 

And  though  for  us  on  life's  dark  wave 

No  anchorage  be  found, — 
Oh,  let  our  hearts  be  true  and  brave, 

Our  ship  is  homeward  bound ! 


140  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

MIDNIGHT. 

Shades  of  night  have  gathered  round, 
'Tis  the  hour  of  gloom  profound  ; 
'Tis  the  hour  Avhen  many  sleep, 
'Tis  the  hour  when  many  weep, 
Over  pleasures  buried  deep. 

Faces  smiling  through  the  day, 
Lips  that  told  a  spirit  gay, 
Eyes  that  beamed  as  tvlth  delight, 
Now  concealed  from  human  sight. 
Put  aside  the  mask  to-night. 

Tossing  on  the  couch  of  pain. 
Seeking  rest  but  all  in  vain. 
With  the  dark  and  dreary  tomb 
Oft  appearing  through  the  gloom. 
Weary  sufferers  wait  their  doom  ! 

Bright  and  golden  dreams  have  some : 
On  their  airy  Avings  they  come. 
Giving  fancy  leave  to  soar 
To  the  happy  scenes  of  yore, — 
Or  to  some  untraveled  shore. 

By  the  hearth  he  holds  so  dear, 
Softly  ringing  in  his  ear 
Gentle  voices,  faces  bright 
Bursting  on  his  gladdened  sight, — ■ 
Sits  the  wanderer  to-night. 

Clasping  hands  in  holy  trust 
Long  since  mouldered  into  dust, — 
Gazing  into  death-sealed  eyes. 
With  a  look  of  sweet  surprise, 
Every  tear  the  mourner  dries. 


SONGS    OF   HOPE,  141 

From  some  rugged  mountain  high. 
Making  journeys  tlii'ough  the  sky, 
Or  in  amaranthine  bowers 
Talking  with  the  birds  and  flowers, 
Poets  spend  the  midnight  hours. 

Phantoms  that  by  day  ekide, 
Flying  ever  when  pursued, — 
Like  the  desert  mirage  bright, 
Pilled  with  joy  and  with  delight 
Dreamers  fondly  clasp  to-night. 

Oh,  that  morning's  early  beam 
Should  dissolve  the  blissful  dream  ! 
Oh,  that  love  and  hope  shuuld  fly 
Like  the  mist  in  yonder  sky, 
When  the  burning  sun  is  high ! 

There's  a  morning  yet  to  break. 
When  the  sleepers  shall  awake 
Prom  the  couch  and  from  the  grave, 
Prom  the  mountain  and  the  cave. 
Prom  beneath  the  ocean  wave. 

Then  the  dream,  of  life  is  o'er. 
Then  they  wake  to  sleep  no  more  ; 
Then  all  earthly  hopes  shall  fly 
Like  the  mist  in  yonder  sky, — 
And  that  morning  draweth  nigh  ! 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 

The  old,  the  young,  and  the  middle-aged  all  meet 
to-day  in  the  house  of  prayer.  Prom  a  thousand 
churches  in  our  own  and  other   lands   the   voice   of 


142  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

praise  and  thanksgiving  goes  ii})  to  heaven — "  The 
Lord  is  risen  !  "  Oh  glorious  tidings  !  "  The  Lord  is 
risen  indeed,"  and  hath  appeared  to  Peter !  aye,  and 
to  Mary  also, — the  poor  sinner  whose  touch  would 
have  been  profanation  to  the  Pharisees  of  our  own 
times.  And  still  more  wonderful,  He  hath  appeared 
to  Thomas — to  Thomas  the  infidel,  who  laughed  at 
the  story  of  the  resurrection  ! 


THE  RISEN  REDEEMER. 

Eejoice  now,  0  sorrowing  bride,  for  he  sleeps  no 
longer.  Let  thy  glad  songs  of  praise  and  adoration 
reach  the  skies,  for  thy  Lord  is  not  among  the  dead — 
he  is  risen.  "  Eejoice  greatly,  O  daughter  of  Zion ! 
shout,  O  daughter  of  Jerusalem  ! "  for  thy  Saviour 
has  burst  the  iron  bands  of  death  and  come  forth  a 
mighty  conqueror.  For  thy  sins  he  laid  himself  down 
in  the  icy  tomb ;  he  rises  again  for  thy  justification. 
Por  thy  iniquities  he  suffered,  died  and  was  buried : 
he  comes  forth  again  that  thou  mayest  be  a  sharer  of 
his  glory.  He  has  hallowed  the  dreary  tomb  by  his 
own  dear  presence,  and  now  he  has  ascended  to  his 
Pather  and  your  Pather,  to  his  God  and  your  God. 
He  has  taken  his  seat  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Maj- 
esty on  high,  and  there,  despairing  soul,  trembling 
under  the  burden  of  sin,  he  pleads  for  thee  (Heb.  7  : 
25).  He  points  to  the  cross  on  Calvary,  dripping 
with  his  own  precious  blood,  and  in  a  voice  of  tender 
compassion    exclaims :    "  Pather,    I    died    for    that 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  143 

wretclied  sinner;  spare,  oh  spare  him  for  my  sake  !" 
He  has  entered  into  the  holy  place  by  his  own  blood, 
having  obtained  eternal  redemption  for  thee,  0  daugh- 
ter of  Zion. 


DOST  THOU  REMEMBER  ME? 

0  Thou  whose  footsteps  are  unknown, 

Whose  path  is  on  the  sea, — 
Whose  footstool  earth,  and  heaven  whose  throne, 

Dost  Thou  remember  me  ? 

0  Thou  whom  winds  and  waves  obey, 

At  whose  supreme  command 
The  shining  worlds  pursue  their  way. 

Or  in  their  orbits  stand, — 

Thou  at  whose  touch  the  hills  disperse, 

And  burning  mountains  flee, 
Thou  Euler  of  the  Universe, 

Dost  Thou  remember  me  ? 

This  world  though  fallen  still  is  thine, 

And  dearer  far  to-day 
Thau  all  the  countless  orbs  that  shine 

But  never  went  astray. 

Eor  here  the  blessed  Son  of  God 

Was  born,  and  wept,  and  died ; 
Our  valleys  and  our  hills  he  trod. 

And  they  are  sanctified. 

On  Him  my  guilty  soul  relies. 

Through  him  I  come  to  thee  ; 
Thou  dost  accept  my  sacrifice. 

Thou  dost  remember  me  ! 


144  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

'TIS  l-BE  NOT  AFRAID. 

Dark  hung  the  clouds  o'er  Galilee  ; 
A  lonely  bark  was  on  the  sea, 

Where  wild  the  billows  played ; 
Deep  terror  filled  each  trembling  frame, 
When  suddenly  the  accents  came, 

"  'T  is  I— be  not  afraid  !" 

A  martyr  stood  with  tranquil  air ; 
He  saw  the  stake,  the  fetters  there, 

The  fagots  all  arrayed ; 
But,  though  such  darkness  reigned  around, 
He  caught  the  sweet,  the  cheering  sound, 

"  'T  is  I— be  not  afraid  ! " 

A  weary  pilgrim  roamed  alone ; 

For  him  was  breathed  no  friendly  tone, 

No  friendly  hand  brought  aid ; 
But  through  the  gloom  so  dark  and  drear, 
A  gentle  whisper  reached  his  ear, 

"'Tis  I— be  not  afraid ! " 

A  mother  knelt  in  anguish  wild 
Beside  a  loved,  a  dying  child. 

And  tears  in  torrents  strayed ; 
A  soothing  voice  breathed  to  her  heart, 
In  tones  that  bade  despair  depart, 

"'Tis  I— be  not  afraid!" 

Ui)on  a  bed  of  pain  and  death 

A  Christian  faintly  drew  his  breath, 

With  spirit  half  dismayed ; 
He  heard  a  soft,  a  tender  voice — 
It  caused  that  spirit  to  rejoice — 

"«'T  is  I— be  not  afraid!" 


SONGS    OF    nol'E.  145 

A  penitent  with  streaming  eye 
Eaised  unto  heaven  his  doleful  cry, 

And  fervently  he  prayed ; 
A  brilliant  light  around  him  shone, 
And  with  it  came  a  heavenly  tone, 

"'Tis  I— be  not  afraid !  " 

And  when  the  trump  from  yonder  skies 
Shall  bid  the  silent  dead  arise  ; 

When  suns  and  stars  shall  fade  ; 
When  thunders  roar,  and  mountains  fall ; 
The  saints  shall  hear  above  them  all, 

"  'T  is  I— be  not  afraid  ! " 


THE  ONLY  PERFECT  ONE. 

I  have  just  finished  "  D'Aubigne's  History  of  the 
E/eformation."  Hoav  many  noble  characters  are  here 
brought  to  light !  how  many  fervent  Christians — how 
many  lofty  souls — how  many  holy  hearts  !  The  firm 
and  undaunted  Luther,  the  gentle  Melancthon,  the 
brave  and  courageous  Zwingle,  the  mild  Ecolampadi- 
us,  the  zealous  and  fiery  Farel — and  a  host  of  others 
equally  noble  in  the  Master's  cause.  And  yet  they 
all  had  their  faults ;  not  one  of  them  was  perfect. 
Though  we  may  sometimes  feel  to  deplore  their  fail- 
ings, yet  surely  it  is  a  comfort  to  the  poor  Christian, 
beset  with  temptations  and  wandering  daily  from  the 
straight  and  narrow  path,  to  look  back  upon  the  lives 
of  the  best  of  earth's  sons — the  noblest  and  the  holi- 
est,— and   behold   that   even   they    sometimes    went 


14G  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

astray.  It  buoys  up  his  soul  with  new  hope  and  cour- 
age. It  bids  it  cast  aside  every  thought  of  justifica- 
tion save  by  faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  It  increases  that 
faith,  and  directs  the  weary  pilgrim  to  the  feet  of 
Him  Avho  alone  is  holy  and  perfect. — Jtme  30,  1852. 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN. 

I  have  heard  music  from  a  far-off  land, 

"Where  sighs  and  sad  laments  are  never  heard ; 

Where  friends  can  meet  and  clasp  each  other's  hand, 
But  ne'er  give  utterance  to  that  dreadful  word 

Which  has  wrung  hearts,  and  like  a  funeral  knell 

Has  tolled  for  our  departed  hopes — ^^  Farewell !  ^^ 

I  have  had  visions  of  that  blessed  clime, 

Where  fadeless  flowers  and  fruits  immortal  grow — 
Tar,  far  beyond  the  troubled  waves  of  Time, 

Where  streams  of  living  waters  sparkling  flow  ; 
And  while  a  pilgrim  here  I  sadly  roam, 
I  love  to  call  that  blissful  land  my  home. 

And  often  with  the  passing  breeze  I  hear 
A  sweet,  a  sad,  perchance  a  warning  tone  : 

"  Heaven  calls  for  thee,"  falls  on  my  willing  ear ; 
Oh  !  can  the  glorious  message  be  mine  own  ? 

Can  it  be  mine,  unworthy  child  of  clay, 

To  win  the  realms  of  everlasting  day  ? 

Through  Him  who  died,  through  Him  who  rose  again, 
Through  Him  who  lives,  and  lives  forevermore, 

I  may  at  last"  that  blissful  rest  obtain. 
And  I  may  stand  upon  the  lovely  shore 

Where  youth  and  health  on  every  cheek  shall  bloom, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  death  and  of  the  tomb. 


SOXGS    OF    HOPE.  147 

Then  hail  sweet  voice  !  sweet  message  to  my  heart ! 

Hail,  land  of  love  and  home  of  endless  peace  ! 
Ye  ties  that  bind  me  here,  oh  !  quickly  part, 

And  shout,  my  soul,  for  joy  to  find  release, 
With  angels  meet  and  sing  in  sweet  accord, 
rore\  er  blest,  forever  with  the  Lord  ! 


THE  REQUEST. 

Come  sit  here  close  beside  me  and  take  my  hand  in 

thine. 
And  tell  me  of  the  happy  home  I  think  will  soon  bo 

mine  ; 
Oh,  tell  me  of  the  river  and  of  the  garden  fair. 
And  of  the  tree  of  life  that  waves  its  healing  branches 

there ! 

And  tell  me  of  the  love  of  God  who  gave  his  only  Son 
To  die  and  suffer  on  the  cross  for  deeds  that  I  havo 

done ; 
And  tell  to  me  the  holy  words  the  blessed  Jesus  spake 
When  from  the  courts  of  Heaven  he  came,   an  exile 

for  my  sake. 

I  love  to  hear  hoAv  Mary  sat  at  the  Redeemer's  feet, — 
I  wish  I  could  have  been  there   too,    I   Avould   have 

shared  her  seat; 
I  envy  much  the  little  group  that  met  at  Martha'3 

board 
To   listen  to   the   gentle   voice   of  him   whom  they 

adored. 

I  envy  those  rude  fishermen  who  rowed  him  o'er  the 

sea, 
Who  walked  Avith  him  and  talked  with  him  as  I  now 

talk  to  thee  ; 


148  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

I  envy  those  who  brought  their  sick,  just  at  the  close 

of  day, 
That  they  might  be  restored  to  health  when  Jesus 

passed  that  way. 

Had  I  been  living  then  I  know  I  would  have  joined 
the  crowd, — 

'•'  Have  mercy,  oh  have  mercy,  Lord  !  "  I  would  have 
cried  aloud. 

Thou  saycst  that  I  still  may  go  and  tell  him  all  my 
grief, 

And  go  I  will;  " Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou  my  unbe- 
lief." 

I  know  my  heart  is  very  hard,  I  feel  the  load  within ; 
But  in  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  I  wash  away  my  sin  j 
I  lay  my  burden  at  his  feet  while  to  his  cross  I  cling ; 
I  do  so  long  to  hear  him  speak  death  seems  a  blessed 
thing. 

Now  kneel  here  close  beside  me  and  lift  thy  voice  in 

prayer 
That  I  may  say  his  will  be  done  whatever  I  may  bear, 
Oh,  I  should  love  to  loorh  for  him,  if  that  could  be  his 

will, 
But  pray  that  I  may  be  resigned — may  suffer  and  be 

stiU. 


COMPLETE  IN  HIM. 

Does  not  the  blood  of  Jesus  alone  cleanse  from  all 
sin  ? — ^who  but  sinners  are  invited  to  the  great  Foun- 
tain ?  Are  my  robes  filthy  ? — where  can  they  be 
made  white  but  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.?    Is  my 


SONUS    OF    HOrE.  149 

heart  obdurate  and  unbelieving  ? — who  can  soften  and 
subdue  it  save  the  Almighty  One  Avho  listens  to  its 
throbbings  and  knows  all  its  trouble  ?  Am  I  tempt- 
ed, sorely  tempted  ? — who  can  pity  like  Him  who  in 
the  wilderness  met  face  to  face  the  great  enemy,  the 
great  tempter  of  mankind  ?  Ah,  my  poor  heart  aches 
when  I  think  of  all  that  is  in  the  past  and  of  all  the 
future  may  have  in  store  for  me.  But  is  there  no 
balm  in  Gilead  ?  is  there  no  physician  there  ?  Will 
He  not  take  me  by  the  hand  and  whisper,  ''  Be  of 
good  cheer  ;  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee  "  ?  Will  He 
not  heal  thy  wounds  by  pouring  into  them  the  oil  of 
consolation  ?  He  has  promised  to  do  this — yea,  much 
more  than  this  ;  and  will  he  for  the  first  time  in  the 
history  of  mankind  fail  to  perform  what  he  has 
spoken  ?  Nay,  nay,  and  I  will  doubt  no  longer.  .  .  . 
0  Jesus,  my  Mediator,  my  Eedeemer,  have  compas- 
sion upon  me,  and  declare  thyself  to  thu  Father  as 
THE  Lord  my  eigiiteousness. — Sept.  18G0. 


TRUST  IN  GOD. 

Trust  in  God  !     He  will  direct  thee, 
He  Avill  love  and  will  protect  thee  ; 

Lean  upon  his  mighty  arm. 

Fear  no  danger,  fear  no  harm. 
Trust  him  for  his  grace  and  power ; 
Trust  him  in  each  trying  hour. 

Trust  in  God  whate'er  betide  thee  ! 

Trust  him  thoucrh  he  sometimes  chide  thee 


150  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

'Tis  in  love  to  lead  tliee  back 
When  thou  turnest  from  the  track. 
Trust  him,  cling  to  him  forever, 
And  he  will  desert  thee — never. 

Trust  in  God,  the  Kock  of  ages  ! 

Louder  still  the  tempest  rages, 

Earthquakes  heave  and  thunders  roar, 
Mountain  surges  lash  the  shore. 

Nations  tremble — hark  !  the  warning, 

"  Comes  the  night,  and  comes  the  morning." 

Watchmen  on  the  walls  of  Zion 
Catch  a  glimpse  of  Judah's  Lion  ! 
Man  of  sorrows,  Lamb  once  slain, 
Comes  as  King  of  kings  to  reign. 
And  from  long  oppressed  Creation, 
Break  the  anthems  of  salvation. 

Trust  in  God  !  the  morn  awaits  thee. 
And  while  such  a  hope  elates  thee. 

Wilt  thou  fold  thy  hands  in  ease  ? 

No,  the  golden  moments  seize  ! 
Lay  thy  gift  upon  the  altar, 
Thou  hast  duties — do  not  falter  ! 


A  PARADOX. 

Alone,  and  yet  not  alone  am  I ;  sad,  and  yet  not 
sad.  No  human  form  intrudes  upon  my  solitude,  and 
yet  He  who  fills  creation  with  himself  is  surely  with 
me ;  sad  I  am,  for  there  are  many  earthly/  thoughts 
that  contribute  to  cast  a  shade  upon  my  soul,  and  yet 
heavenly  thoughts  soon  dispel  such  mournful  ones. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  151 

Oil,  that  iny  Avhole  affection  might  be  placed  upon 
things  above,  and  not  on  things  on  the  earth !  Why- 
should  my  heart  be  gloomy  when  such  a  glorious 
prospect  opens  before  me  ? — a  world  of  immortal 
beauty,  enlivened  by  the  presence  of  God  himself,  and 
a  glorious  city,  even  the  New  Jerusalem.  "  Fly,  lin- 
gering moments,  fly  away,  and  bring  that  long  expect- 
ed day  "  when  Christ  shall  appear  in  glory  to  take  his 
weary  children  home. 


"THOU  SHALT  KNOW  HEREAFTER." 

The  wind  has  ceased— how  still  and  tranquil  all ! 
The  ghastly  moon  still  shines  upon  the  wall ; 
While  other  eyes  are  closed  why  do  I  weep  ? 
Begone,  ye  phantoms,  welcome,  balmy  sleep ! 
And  bear  me  to  the  shadowy  land  of  dreams 
Where  yesternight  T  roamed  by  crystal  streams, 
And  gathered  flowers  metliought  would  never  fade, 
Or  talked  Avith  angels  'neath  the  pleasant  shade  ! 

It  was  a  dream  ;  ah,  yes,  and  life  to  me 
Was  once  a  dream — smooth  as  the  placid  sea 
When  all  is  calm,  and  on  its  bosom  lies 
The  golden  radiance  of  the  summer  skies. 
There  came  a  storm — the  thunder's  dreadful  roar, 
The  angry  waves  that  beat  against  the  shore 
Awakened  me — oh,  I  had  lived  too  long 
In  the  bright  realms  of  fancy  and  of  song. 

Perhaps  'twas  well  the  storm  swept  o'er  the  sea, 
Perhaps  'twas  well  the  tumult  startled  me, 
'Twas  well  I  learned  there's  much  to  do  and  dare, 


152  CANADIAN"    "WILD    FLOAVEUS. 

Much  to  be  suffered,  much  to  meekly  bear, 
But  "when  I  found  the  real  though  unsought, 
And  thought  of  life  and  trembled  as  I  tliougbt,- 
When  like  the  leaves  in  autumn  day  by  day 
The  hopes  I  cherished  hastened  to  decay, 
And  hopeless,  helpless  in  my  great  despair 
I  turned  to  earth  but  found  no  solace  there, 
'Twas  well  for  me  that  in  the  darkened  skies 
I  sa"w  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  arise  ! 

I  know  not  why,  though  nature  craves  to  know. 
That  all  my  dreams  of  happiness  below 
Should  be  thus  blighted,  yet  the  time  is  near 
When  I,  poor  voyager,  often  shipwrecked  here. 
Shall  reach  the  port,  and  safely  moored  at  last 
Eeview  the  scenes  and  sufferings  of  the  past, — 
Beholding  where  the  shadows  darkest  lay 
The  dawning  glory  of  immortal  day. 
And  all  along  the  path  that  seemed  so  drear 
Leaving  this  one  memorial — God  was  here  ! 


"THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING  IN  HIS  BEAUTY." 

The  thought  is  ever  present,  Shall  these  eyes  indeed 
see  the  Maker  of  the  universe  ?  shall  these  feet  indeed 
walk  the  Golden  City  ?  shall  these  hands  wave  the 
palm  of  victory  and  strike  the  chords  of  the  glorious 
harp  whose  music  shall  be  sweeter  than  that  of  Da- 
vid's ?  Can  this  be  possible,  and  do  I  Aveep  and 
mourn  because  of  present  a£0.iction  ?  Oh,  the  future, 
the  future !  what  has  it  not  in  reserve  for  me  ?  Glo- 
ries of  which  mortal  never  dreamed :  eternal  life — 
eternal   happiness — perpetual   youth — knowledge  un- 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  153 

bounded,  yet  ever  increasing  !  Fly,  fly,  fly,  days  of 
pain  and  sorrow !  Hail,  all  hail !  bright  morn  of  de- 
liverance. It  will  come  ;  and  I — oh,  the  thought 
overpowers  me — I,  poor  and  wretched  and  sinful, 
shall  be  blessed  iovcYQv,  forever,  forever. 


ALL  IS  WELL. 

Dark  the  future  yawns  before  me, 
Bitter  griefs  my  bosom  swell  ; 

But  a  light  is  breaking  o'er  me, 
And  a  voice — "  All,  all  is  well !  " 

Sad  and  lone  has  been  my  journey, 
Sad  and  lone  my  way  must  be  : 

Care  and  sorrow,  pain  and  sickness, 
Long  have  been  allotted  me. 

Sunshine  that  o'er  youthful  bosoms 
Flings  a  bright  and  magic  spell, 

Seldom  breaks  upon  my"  pathway. 
Yet  I  know  that  all  is  well ! 

If  the  Hand  that  guides  the  planets 
Feeds  the  ravens  when  they  cry, 

Can  it  be  that  I'm  unnoticed 
By  a  Father's  loving  eye  ? 

He  has  thoughts  of  mercy  toward  me, 

His  designs  I  cannot  tell ; 
'Tis  enough  for  me  to  trust  Him, 

He  knows  best — and  all  is  well ! 

Many  doubts  and  many  shadows 
Oft  have  flitted  through  my  mind. 


154  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

And  I've  questioned,  sadly  qviestioned, 
But  no  answer  could  I  find. 

Earth  was  silent  to  my  pleading, 
Nature  taught  me  to  rebel ; 

But  when  I  recall  the  promise 
"  /  am  ivith  thee  " — all  is  well  ! 

Many  things  I  can't  unravel ; 

Many  winding  mazes  see ; 
But  I'll  go  with  faith  unshaken, 

For  the  Lord  is  leading  me. 

And  when  beams  of  endless  glory 
The  mysterious  clouds  dispel, 

Grateful  shall  I  tell  my  story, 
Grateful  say  that  all  was  well ! 


WE  SHALL  MEET. 

We  have  wandered  oft  together 
At  the  hour  of  setting  sun  ; 

Shall  we  wander  thus  together. 
When  the  toils  of  life  are  done  ? 

Many  hours  we've  spent  together 
Scenes  of  joy  and  grief  have  known  ; 

Shall  we  spend  the  hours  together 
When  the  joy  will  be  alone  ? 

Sad  indeed  would  be  our  parting 
If  we  hoped  to  meet  no  more, 

But  although  the  tears  are  starting. 
Look  Ave  to  a  brifrhter  shore. 


SOXGS    OF    HOPE,  155 

Dark  indeed  would  lie  the  morrow 

When  apart  we  sadly  roam, 
If  beyond  this  world  of  sorrow 

AVe  could  see  no  happier  home. 

But  we've  heard  a  joyful  story 
Of  a  land  that's  bright  and  fair, 

And  we  hope  to  share  its  glory. 
And  to  meet  each  other  there. 

Swiftly  onward  to  the  ocean 

Eoll  the  troubled  waves  of  time, 

Bearing  us  with  every  motion 
Nearer  to  the  blessed  clime. 

Soon  the  tears  that  now  are  starting 

With  their  causes  will  be  o'er ; 
Soon  ths  hands  now  clasped  in  parting 

Will  be  joined  forevermore. 

We  have  shared  one  home  together, 
AVe  have  sat  around  one  board ; 

And  we'll  find  a  home  together 
la  the  Paradise  restored  ! 


WHAT  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  CLOUD  SAID. 

Down  the  spout  a  torrent  gushed,  to  be  pent  up  in 
an  old,  dark  tub,  and  made  the  slave  of  the  washer- 
woman. AVould  it  not  have  been  better  for  thee,  0 
water,  to  have  fallen  in  the  beautiful  forest  ?  to  lie  in 
the  bosom  of  the  lily,  or  become  a  looking-glass  for 
the  many  colored  insects  ?  ''I  would  be  useful," 
whispered   the   daughter  of  the  cloud,  "therefore  I 


156  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

have  stooped  to  an  humble  action — I  left  the  abode  of 
the  lightning.  My  lot  is  a  lowly  one  ;  my  life  full  of 
sorrow  and  humiliation.  I  must  pass  through  a  fiery 
ordeal ;  I  must  be  cast  out  and  despised  by  those 
whom  I  have  served.  But  then  will  be  the  time  of 
any  exaltation :  the  blessed  Sun  will  take  pity  upon 
me,  and  make  me  a  gem  of  beauty  in  the  angels'  high- 
way ! " 

[Though  no  application  has  been  made  of  this  similitude, 
yet  the  truth  designed  to  be  taught  is  easily  gathered:  The 
Christian  may  be  called  to  many  a  lowly  act — to  a  ministration 
which  will  subject  him  to  reproach  and  suffering  here,  but  the 
day  of  exaltation  is  sure  to  come.  "He  that  humbleth  him- 
self shall  be  exalted."  The  day  hastens  when  from  the  heav- 
ens the  Saviour  will  descend,  "who  will  transform  the  body 
of  our  humiliation,  that  it  may  be  conformed  to  the  body  of 
his  glory." — Phil.  3  :  21  {Am.  Bible  Union  Trans.).  How 
glorious  will  the  humble  workers  of  earth  appear  when  they 
are  beautified  by  the  Sun  of  righteousness  in  the  resurrection 
morning!  That  will  be  an  Easter  day  of  surpassing  loveli- 
ness.! 


THIS  IS  NOT  HOME. 

This  is  not  home !  from  o'er  the  stormy  sea 
Bright  birds  of  passage  wing  their  way  to  me ; 
They  bear  a  message  from  the  loved  and  lost 
Who  tried  the  angry  waves  and  safely  crossed, 
And  now  in  homelike  mansions  find  repose 
Where  billows  never  roar  nor  tempest  blows. 

As  strangers  here  in  foreign  lands  we  roam, 
Oh,  why  should  not  the  exile  sigh  for  home  ? 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  157 

A  thousand  snares  beset  our  thorny  way, 

And  night  is  round  us — why  not  wish  for  day  ? 

The  storm  is  high,  beneath  its  wintry  wing 

The  blossom  fades — oh,  why  not  wish  for  Spring  ? 

The  waters  roll  o'er  treasures  buried  deep, 
And  sacred  dust  the  lonely  churchyards  keep — 
Homes  are  dissolved  and  ties  are  rent  in  twain, 
And  things  that  charm  can  never  charm  again. 
On  every  brow  we  mark  the  hand  of  time, 
Oh,  why  not  long  for  the  celestial  clime  ? 

Wave  after  Avave  rolls  inward  to  the  land, 
Then  comes  the  wail  and  then  the  parting  hand, 
And  those  for  Avhom  we  would  have  freely  died 
Are  borne  away  upon  the  ebbing  tide  ; 
We  weep  and  mourn,  we  bid  the  sea  restore. 
It  mocks  our  grief — and  takes  one  idol  more. 

'Tis  well  for  us  that  ties  which  bind  the  heart 
Too  strongly  here  are  rudely  snapped  apart ; 
'Tis  well  the  pitcher  at  the  fountain  breaks. 
The  golden  bowl  is  shattered  for  our  sakes, 
To  show  how  frail  and  fleeting  all  we  love. 
To  raise  our  souls  to  lasting  things  above. 

We  are  but  pilgrims — like  the  tribes  Avho  roam 

In  every  land  but  call  no  land  their  home, — 

And  what  their  ancient  Canaan  is  to  them. 

So  is  to  us  the  New  Jerusalem  ; 

Then  while  our  hopes,  our  hearts,  our  homes  are  there, 

"  Thy  Kingdom  come  "  must  be  our  fervent  prayer  ! 


THE  SOUL'S  CONSOLATION. 
Ah,  well  it  is  for  thee  that  there  is   one   ear   that 
will  listen,  one  eye  that  pities,  one  heart  that  will 


158  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

take  tliee  in — "  Thou  God  seest  me !  "  Was  ever 
conaolation  contained  in  so  few  words  ?  Oli,  repeat 
it  when  the  heart  is  breaking — when  between  thee 
and  every  earthly  object  yawns  a  gulf  dark  and  im- 
passable. Thou  God  seest  me  !  Thou  God  lovest  me 
— lovest  me/  Thou  knowest  the  agony  of  my  spirit : 
thou  knowest  what  I  suffer,  and  thou  must  give  me 
strength  and  grace  to  endure  all,  and  to  say  in  truth 
and  sincerity,  Thy  will  not  mine  be  done. 


"WE  SEE  THROUGH  A  GLASS,  DARKLY." 

We  weep  when  from  the  darkened  sky 

The  thunderbolts  are  driven, 
And  wheresoe'er  we  turn  our  eye 

Our  earthly  hopes  are  riven  ; 
But  could  we  look  beyond  the  storm 

That  threatens  all  before  us, 
We  might  observe  a  heavenly  form 

Guiding  the  tempest  o'er  us. 

The  eye  that  sees  the  sparrow's  fall, 

That  never  sleeps  nor  slumbers, 
Beholds  our  griefs  however  small. 

And  every  sigh  he  numbers. 
The  angels  fly  at  his  command, 

With  love  their  bosoms  SAvelling, 
They  lead  us  gently  by  the  hand, — 

They  hover  round  our  dwelling. 

And  when  the  fading  things  of  earth 

Our  hearts  too  fondly  cherish, 
Forgetful  of  their  mortal  birth. 


SONGS    OF    HOPE.  159 

How  suddenly  they  perisli ! 
But  'tis  in  mercy  and  in  love 

Our  Father  thus  chastises, 
To  fix  our  thoughts  on  things  above ; 

He  strikes,  yet  sympathizes. 

We  know  not,  and  we  may  not  know 

Till  dawn  the  endless  ages, 
Why  round  his  children  here  below 

The  howling  tempest  rages  ; 
But  tJiis  we  know,  that  life  nor  death 

Our  souls  from  him  can  sever ! 
We'll  praise  him  with  our  latest  breath — 

We'll  sing  his  praise  forever ! 


WORDS  OF  CHEER  FOR  FAINTING  CHRISTIANS. 

Poor  pilgrim,  Avear}-  with  the  toils  of  life,  distressed 
and  afflicted  on  every  hand,  persecuted  and  forsaken 
by  thy  fellowmen,  hast  thou  ever  fathomed  the  depths 
of  that  glorious  declaration,  "  I  will  never  leave  thee, 
nor  forsake  thee  "  ? — Heb.  13  :  5,  Hast  thou  ever 
realized  that  in  whatever  situation  thou  mayest  be 
placed — on  the  mountains  of  delight  or  in  the  vale  of 
humiliation,  in  sickness  or  in  health,  in  prosperity  or 
in  adversity,  in  life  or  in  death — thou  art  under  the 
immediate  protection  of  the  great  Shepherd  of  Israel, 
who  never  sleeps  nor  slumbers  ?  The  heavens  may 
gather  blackness,  the  storm  may  come  down  in  fury, 
but  He  who  whispered,  "Peace,  be  still,"  to  the  rag- 
ing billows,  is  "  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  for- 
ever ";  and  though  now  invisible  his  presence  is  with 


160  CANADIAN"    WILD    FLOWERS. 

thee  as  truly  and  as  really  as  it  was  with  the  timid 
band  of  disciples  on  the  stormy  sea  of  Galilee.  The 
same  Jesus  that  walked  the  streets  of  Jerusalem, — 
the  pitiful,  the  affectionate,  the  tender-hearted, — is  an 
eye-witness  of  all  thy  tears,  thy  trials  and  tempta- 
tions. His  ear,  which  was  never  closed  to  the  cry  of 
the  poor  and  needy,  is  still  open  to  thy  call ;  and  the 
heart  which  embraced  the  whole  universe  has  a  place 
for  thee.  The  fires  upon  thy  altar  may  have  grown 
dim ;  the  sacrifice  may  have  been  the  poor  and  lean 
of  thy  flock ;  but  the  coals  of  divine  love  are  bright 
upon  the  heavenly  altar ;  and  the  great  Sacrifice — ^the 
Lamb  without  spot  or  blemish — whispers  of  Calvary 
and  Gethsemane,  and  mentions  thee  in  his  interces- 
sion. 

Amazing  love  !  love  never  to  be  fathomed.  Angels 
who  wait  to  do  his  bidding,  seraphim  and  cherubim 
who  behold  his  face  in  glory,  can  ye  comprehend  the 
height  and  depth,  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Sav- 
iour's love  ?  Ah !  angels,  and  seraphim,  and  cheru- 
bim still  bend  above  the  mercy-seat  and  "desire  to 
look  into  "  these  things ;  but  ages  on  ages  of  eternity 
may  roll  away  and  the  love  that  bowed  the  heavens 
for  sinful  and  degraded  mortals  shall  still  remain  an 
unsounded  deep !  And  this  love  is  for  thee — ^for  thee, 
poor  pilgrim.  Plunge  then  deeply  into  this  unfath- 
able  ocean.  Fear  not  to  loosen  thy  hold  upon  the 
shore  :  there  is  nothing  there  worthy  thy  love.  Thou 
art  an  heir  of  immortality,  and  the  pleasures  which 
endure    for    a    season    should  be   nothing  to  thee. 


SONGS    OF    UOPE.  161 

Wealth,  and  honor,  and  power  are  only  the  gildings 
of  a  groaning  and  sin-cursed  earth.  The  shouts  of 
mirth  and  revelry  borne  upon  the  midnight  air,  are 
only  the  prelude  to  tears  and  sighs  and  mourning. 
Behind  thee  is  the  blackness  of  despair,  before  thee 
the  everlasting  sunshine.  Away,  away  !  tarry  not  to 
sip  water  from  the  broken  cistern,  for  the  living  foun- 
tain gushes  forth,  clear  as  crystal ;  and  the  invitation 
is  for  all :  "  Ho,  every  one  that  thirsteth  "  (Isa.  55  : 
1 ;  Eev.  21  :  6 ;  22  :  17). ~Au(/.  10,  1856. 


Pi^fxHuwy. 


THE  DYING  YEAR. 

Hark !  tliere  comes  at  midnight  hour 

Sound  like  funeral  knell, 
Chaining  us  with  magic  power, 

Whispering,  "  FarcwelV 

'Tis  the  dying  year's  last  sigh 
Mingling  with  the  storm ; 

Closes  now  his  hollow  eye, 
Sinks  his  feeble  form. 

Still  at  midnight,  dark  and  lone, 

Mournful  echoes  ring, 
Murmuring  in  solemn  tone, 

*'  Time  is  on  the  icing." 


INCOMPREHENSIBILITY  OF  GOD. 

O  God,  where  art  thou  ?  where  thy  mighty  throne  ? 
Why  is  thy  face  unseen,  and  thou  unknown  ? — 
Source  and  support  of  all,  why  is  thy  form 
Hidden  from  mortal  eyes  ?  when  every  storm 
That  sweeps  athwart  the  dark  and  angry  sky, 
When  all  the  bright  and  burning  orbs  on  high, 
When  the  deep  sea  that  in  its  fury  roars, 
When  all  its  beautiful  and  fertile  shores. 
When  every  river,  hill  and  lowly  dale, 
When  every  mountain,  tree,  and  flowery  vale. 


MISCELLAISIY.  163 

When  every  bird,  and  e'en  the  springing  sod, 
Whisper  aloud,  "  Tliere  is,  there  is  a  God  !  " 

These  are  thy  Avorks  ;  but  where,  0  God,  art  thou  ? 
Pavilioned  in  deep  darkness,  is  thy  brow 
Hid  in  dark  folds,  ne'er  to  be  drawn  apart  ? 
Will  mortal  never  see  tliee  as  thou  art  ? 
Yes ;  when  the  wheels  of  time  have  ceased  to  run, 
When  yon  bright  orb  its  glorious  task  has  done, 
Then  will  the  veil  be  rent  which  once  concealed 
The  throne  of  God,  the  mighty  unrevealed ; 
Then  human  eyes  will  view  his  dwelling-place, 
And  saints,  as  angels,  see  him  face  to  face. 


THE  STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM. 

Lo  in  the  east  the  Star  begins  to  rise. 

The  glorious  centre  for  admiring  eyes 

Of  men  and  angels — Herald  of  the  morn 

So  long  foretold,  the  Prince  of  peace  is  born  ! 

O'er  all  the  earth  let  hallelujahs  ring. 

Let  all  the  earth  a  fitting  tribute  bring — 

With  gold  and  silver,  frankincense  and  myrrh. 

Come  from  the  south,  or,  clad  in  robes  of  fur, 

Come  from  the  frozen  north,  from  east  and  Avest, 

Prince,  priest  and  Avarrior,  earth's  gret^:  ones  and  best, 

Come  to  the  manger,  humbly  there  lay  down 

The  SAVord,  the  mitre  and  the  jcAveled  crown. 

The  rich  and  noble  celebrate  the  day 

With  pomp  and  show  ;  but  avIio  are  these  ?  make  way 

Ye  sons  of  Avealtli !  ye  rulers  stand  aside  ! 

This  is  no  place,  this  is  no  hour  for  pride  ; 

The  sick,  the  lame,  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  dumb, 

The  sinful,  poor  and  sorrowful  may  come ; 


1G4  CAXADIA^f    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

And  even  I  can  bring  my  little  store — 
A  "wearj,  sin-sick  heart — I've  nothing  more : 
The  world  may  frown,  the  lofty  may  despise, 
The  gift  is  precious  in  my  Saviour's  eyes. 
To  him  as  sacred  are  the  tears  that  fall 
In  lowly  cottage  as  in  princely  hall, — 
No  rich,  no  poor  his  loving  bosom  knows. 
He  cares  for  all  and  pities  all  their  woes. 
In  the  same  censer  offers  up  their  prayers. 
And  on  his  heart  their  names  alike  he  bears. 

0  Star  above  all  stars  !  whose  blessed  light 
Illumes  the  darkness  of  our  moral  night. 
Still  guide  our  wandering  feet  till  He  whose  birth 
Thou  didst  announce  shall  come  again  to  earth. 
And  wise  and  simple,  king  and  subject  meet 
To  hear  their  doom  before  the  judgment-seat, — 
Till  nature's  groans  with  human  groans  shall  cease. 
And  Earth  itself,  once  more  with  Heaven  at  peace, 
Shall  put  her  robes  of  deathless  beauty  on, 
Time  be  no  more,  and  the  millennium  dawn  ! 


GOD  MADE  ME  POOR. 

God  made  me  poor — am  I  to  blame  ? 

And  shall  I  bow  my  head 
As  though  it  were  some  dreadful  shame 

I  had  inherited  ? 

Shall  I  among  the  rich  and  great 
Like  trembling  culprit  stand, 

Or  like  obedient  servant  wait 
To  do  their  least  command  ? 

And  when  they  pass  me  by  in  scorn — 
As  they  have  often  done, — 


MISCELLANY. 

Shall  I  regret  that  T  ^vas  boru 
An  humble  fanner's  son  ? 

Ko  !  should  it  ever  cause  a  sigh 
This  were  indeed  a  shame ; 

For  all  unworthy  then  were  I 
To  bear  my  father's  name. 

I'll  pay  to  all  the  homage  due 
Whatever  rank  they  hold ; 

But  to  my  manhood  ever  true 
I IV ill  not  boiv  to  gold. 


165 


THE  STRANGER  GUEST. 

Came  a  stranger,  sad  and  weary, 
To  my  humble  cot  one  day. 

And  he  "asked  me  for  a  shelter, — 
Long  and  rough  had  been  the  way 

He  had  traveled 
On  that  sultry  summer  day. 

Pain  and  grief  had  marred  his  beauty, 

And  a  tear  was  in  his  eye 
As  he  asked  me  for  a  shelter. 

And  then  waited  a  reply. 
Tears  did  gather 

In  mine  own,  I  knew  not  why. 

'jSTeath  my  humble  roof  I  led  him, 
As  he  crossed  the  threshold  o'er 

"  Peace  to  thee,"  he  softly  whispered ; 
Peace  I  never  knew  before 

Pilled  my  bosom. 
As  the  stranger  filled  mv  door. 


1G6  CANADTAK   WILD    FLOWERS. 

Be  my  friend  and  guest  forever, 
In  a  trembling  voice  I  said ; 

And  lie  smiled  and  laid  so  gently 
One  dear  hand  upon  my  head  ; 

It  was  bleeding, 
And  I  knew  for  me  it  bled  1 

"  I  Avill  be  thy  guest  forever," 
Said  the  stranger  unto  me  ; 

"  But  the  cost — say,  hast  thou  counted- 
Counted  what  tlie  cost  will  be  ? 

Earthly  pleasures, 
Wilt  thou  leave  them  all  for  me  ? 

•  "  Wilt  thou  take  my  yoke  upon  thee  ? 
Wilt  thou  humbly  bear  my  name  ? 
Crush  the  risings  of  ambition. 
And  the  hopes  of  earthly  fame  ? 

Freely  suffering, 
Tor  my  sake,  reproach  and  shame  ?  " 

Then  I  said.  Both  fame  and  pleasure 

Willingly  I  can  resign  ; 
Let  me  only  feel  thy  presence. 

Let  me  know  that  thou  art  mine, 
And  dear  Saviour, 

All  I  have  and  am  are  thine  ! 


A  LONG  DELIGHTFUL  WALK. 

While  reading  to-day  an  account  of  the  descendants 
of  Adam  my  mind  was  particularly  struck  with  the 
short  but  comprehensive  narrative  of  Enoch :  "  He 
walked  with  God,  and  he  was  not ;  for  God  took  him  " 


MISCELLANY.  167 

(Gen.  5  :  21-24).  He  ''  walked  with  God,"  and  how 
long  ?  "  Three  hundred  years  "  after  he  begat  Me- 
thusehih.  Oh,  how  strange  that  it  shoukl  be  so  hard 
for  me  to  walk  in  the  commandments  of  the  Lord 
even  for  a  few  days !  0  God,  give  me  more  of  the 
love  and  more  of  the  faith  that  Enoch  possessed. — 
Atiff.  18,  1853. 


"THE  SERVANT  IS  NOT  ABOVE  HIS  MASTER." 

Lonely  pilgrim,  art  thou  sinking 

'Neath  the  weight  of  grief  and  care  ? 
Bitter  dregs  of  sorrow  drinlcing 

From  the  cup  of  dark  despair  ? 
Mourn  not,  for  thy  Master's  footsteps 

The  same  gloomy  paths  have  trod ; 
He  has  drained  the  cup  of  anguish, — 

He,  the  mighty  Son  of  God. 

Does  guant  poverty  surround  thee, 

With  its  pale  and  meagre  train  ? 
Do  they  gather  closely  round  thee, 

Want,  and  suffering  and  pain  ? 
Mourn  not,  for  the  chilly  dew-drops 

Fell  upon  thy  Master's  bed ; 
Mourn  not,  for  the  Prince  of  Glory 

Had  not  where  to  lay  his  liead  ! 

Are  thy  kindred  lowly  lying 
In  the  cold  and  silent  tomb. 

Heedless  of  thy  plaintive  sighing. 
Heedless  of  thy  grief  and  gloom  ? 

Know  thy  Master's  tears  descended 
Where  a  dearly-loved  one  slept ; 


168  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

He  knows  well  thy  weight  of  sorrow ; 
Murmur  not,  for  Jesus  wejDt. 

Do  the  friends  that  once  caressed  thee 

Pass  thee  by  with  frowning  brow  ? 
Has  the  friendship  that  once  blessed  thee 

Changed  to  bitter  hatred  now  ? 
Weep  not,  for  thy  Master's  brethren 

In  his  sorrow  turned  aside. 
Scorned  to  own  that  once  they  loved  him- 

Weep  not, — Jesus  was  denied !  ' 

Does  a  scoffing  world  deride  thee. 

And  expose  to  scorn  and  shame  ? 
Do  thy  foes  rise  up  beside  thee, 

Blast  thy  character  and  name  ? 
KnoAv  thy  Master  was  derided, 

Scorned  in  Pilate's  judgment-hall. 
Mourn  not ;  Christ,  the  great  Eedeemer, 

Was  despised  and  loathed  by  all. 

Art  thou  torn  with  grief  and  anguish  ? 

Packed  with  many  a  burning  pain  ? 
Does  thy  weary  body  languish  ? 

Fearful  pangs  torment  thy  brain  ? 
Murmur  not ;  from  Calvary's  mountain 

List  thy  Master's  dying  groan ! 
Murmur  not ;  thy  great  Pedeemer 

Gave  his  life  to  save  thine  own ! 

Does  the  monster  Death  look  dreary  ? 

Pill  thy  mind  with  fears  and  gloom  ? 
Does  thy  spirit,  faint  and  weary, 

Shrink  in  terror  from  the  tomb  ? 
Know  thy  Master  's  gone  before  thee, 

Crossed  the  dark  and  narrow  tide. 


MISC'ELLAXY.  169 

Disarmed  Death  of  all  his  terrors  : 
Then  fear  not — thy  Saviour  died  ! 

Yes,  he  died, — the  Prince  of  Glory, — 

Died  upon  the  cursed  tree  ; 
Pilgrim,  spread  the  joyful  story : 

Jesus  died,  and  died  for  thee  ! 
And  he  rose, — he  rose  triumjDhant, — 

Burst  the  bars  of  death  in  twain. 
Lonely  pilgrim,  that  same  Jesus 

Will  return  to  earth  again  ! 

See  the  first  faint  beams  of  morning 

Chasing  night  and  clouds  away,     " 
All  the  glorious  sky  adorning ; 

Pilgrim,  it  is  break  of  day  ! 
Kouse  thee,  pilgrim,  weep  no  longer ; 

Let  thy  glad  Hosanna  ring  ! 
Jesus  comes  in  power  and  glory ; 

Hail  thy  Saviour  and  thy  King ! 


ELIJAH. 


He  calmly  stands  on  the  mountain's  brow. 

God  shield  thee,  thou  lonely  prophet,  now  ! 

For  thy  friends  are  few,  and  thy  foes  are  strong, 

And  each  heart  beats  high  in  that  mocking  throng ; 

And  every  eye  is  fixed  upon  thee, 

As  thou  standest  alone  in  thy  majesty. 

The  prophets  of  Baal  are  many  and  great, 
And  they  move  along  in  princely  state ; 
With  a  scornful  eye  and  a  haughty  air,    * 
They  have  proudly  taken  their  station  there; 
While  the  blood  of  thy  comrades  stains  the  sod, 
And  thou  only  art  left  a  prophet  of  God. 


170  CAISTADIAISl    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

Yet  firm  is  thy  step,  and  calm  thy  broAV — 
The  Lord  God  of  hosts  is  for  thee  now  ; 
And,  strong-  in  his  strength,  thou  mayest  advance, 
And  defy  the  workl  with  thy  piercing  ghance ; 
While  the  prophets  of  Baal  bend  at  thy  nod. 
And  the  people  own  that  the  Lord,  he  is  God. 

The  sun  shines  bright  in  the  azure  sky. 

And  the  morning  breeze  sweeps  gently  by, 

And  all  is  quiet  on  earth,  in  air — 

Not  a  sound  escapes  from  that  multitude  there ; 

Though  eager  each  eye  and  troubled  each  mien, 

Yet  the  stillness  of  death  reigns  over  the  scene. 

But  a  voice  is  heard ;  and  clear  and  loud 
It  breaks  on  the  ears  of  the  listening  crowd ; 
They  quickly  obey.     A  space  is  cleared ; 
The  bullock  is  slain,  the  altar  is  reared ; 
While  the  prophets  of  Baal  around  it  bend, 
And  implore  their  god  an  answer  to  send. 

The  day  wears  on,  and  the  sun  is  high — 

Still  round  that  altar  they  madly  cry ; 

But  the  sky  is  serene  as  ever  before, 

And,  frantic  with  rage,  they  shout  the  more ; 

But 't  is  all  in  vain  ;  and  the  day  has  past. 

And  the  prophets  of  Baal  have  yielded  at  last. 

Each  heart  beats  high  with  anxiety  there, 
As  Elijah,  with  calm,  majestic  air. 
Alone  and  exposed  to  a  nation's  frown, 
Rebuilds  the  altar  long  since  thrown  down. 
'T  is  the  hour  for  the  evening  sacrifice  now. 
And  he  solemnly  kneels  on  the  mountain's  brow. 

On  the  name  of  the  Lord  his  God  he  calls  ; 
When,  lo  !  quick  as  lightning,  the  fire  falls  ! 


MISCELLANY.  171 

A  smoke  ascends  to  the  vaulted  sky, 

And  Avitli  it  arises  a  mingled  cry ; 

And  bowed  is  each  head,  and  bent  is  each  knee 

As  "■  The  Lord,  he  is  God ! "  rings  loud  o'er  the  sea. 

'T  is  night,  and  the  evening  breeze  grows  chill ; 
The  prophet  pleads  with  Jehovah  still ; 
He  has  seen  the  prophets  of  Baal  slain, 
And  now  he  implores  for  the  falling  rain. 
The  heavens  grow  black  at  Jehovah's  word ; 
Arise,  Elijah,  thy  prayer  is  heard  ! 


THE  SACRED  PAGE. 

Golden-headed  youth  and  silver-headed  age 
Bend  together  earnestly  o'er  the  Sacred  Page  ; 
One  amid  spring  blossoms,  while  the  falling  leaves 
Gather  round  the  other  sitting  'mid  the  sheaves  ; 
One  amid  the  twilight  of  the  coming  day. 
While  the  shadows  deepen  round  the  other's  way. 

Golden-headed  youth  and  silver-headed  age 

Bead  the  same  sweet  lessons  from  the  Sacred  Page  ; 

Eyes  that  brim  with  laughter,  eyes   that   dim   with 

years. 
Resting  there  pay  tribute  in  a  flood  of  tears  ; 
Eosy  lips  and  pallid  trembling  at  the  cyj — 
Mournfully  repeating  the  Sabachthani ! 

Golden-headed  youth  and  silver-headed  age 

Draw  their  consolation  from  the  Sacred  Page ; 

One  is  in  the  valley  where  the  grass  is  green. 

While  the  other  gazes  on  a  wintry  scene  ; 

Both  have  lost  their  birth-right — both  have  felt  their 

loss. 
And  they  both  regain  it  through  the  blessed  Cross  1 


172  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

Golden-headed  youth  and  silver-headed  age, 
Find  their  way  to  Heaven  in  the  Sacred  Page ; 
Like  the  little  children  waiting  to  be  blessed, 
One  goes  forth  rejoicing  to  the  Saviour's  breast, 
While  the  other  clingeth  to  his  mighty  arm, 
'Mid  the  swelling  Jordan  feeling  no  alarm. 

Golden-headed  youth  and  silver-headed  age. 
Come,  and  seek  for  treasures  in  the  Sacred  Page  ; 
To  the  one  how  tender  is  the  Saviour's  call ; 
Yet  the  invitation  He  extends  to  all ; 
Earthly  fountains  fail  you — hasten  to  assuage 
Every  grief  of  childhood — every  pang  of  age  ! 

Oh,  what  a  book  is  the  Bible  !  There  is  enough  in 
one  verse  to  condemn  the  whole  world,  and  enough  in 
another  to  redeem  it. 

No  man  in  a  dark  night  can  behold  himself  in  a 
mirror  until  a  lamp  is  lighted, — and  not  even  then 
distinctly  and  perfectly  until  the  dawn  of  day  :  so  no 
man  can  see  himself  in  God's  mirror  until  the  beams 
of  the  divine  lamp  [the  Holy  Spirit]  illume  his  soul, — 
nor  even  then  can  he  see  perfectly  what  a  wretched 
and  distorted  being  he  is  "  until  the  day  break  "  and, 
being  made  like  his  Saviour,  he  contrasts  what  he  is 
with  what  he  once  was. 


BEHOLD  HOW  HE  LOVED  US. 

While  on  the  cross  the  Saviour  bleeds. 
While  friend  nor  foe  his  anguish  heeds, 
While  many  a  taunt  and  bitter  jeer 
Break  harshly  on  his  holy  ear. 


MISCELLANY.  173 

He  prays, — what  cau  that  last  prayer  be  ? 
Oh,  wondrous  love,  he  prays  for  me  ! 

Deep  anguish  fills  his  troubled  soul, 
The  streams  of  blood  in  torrents  roll ; 
And  louder  railings  noAV  are  heard ; 
He  breathes  not  one  complaining  Avord  ; 
Yet,  hark  !  he  prays, — what  can  it  be  ? 
Oh,  wondrous  love,  he  prays  for  me  ! 

He  bows  his  head,  Immanuel  dies  ; 
Darkness  o'erspreads  the  azure  skies, 
Loud  thunders  shake  the  earth  and  air, 
And  earthquakes  heave  in  horror  there  ; 
Angels  the  act  with  wonder  see  ; 
Oh,  matchless  love,  he  dies  for  me  ! 

He  leaves  the  dark  and  gloomy  grave, 
"While  angel-pinions  round  him  wave, 
And,  rising  from  the  mountain's  brow, 
Appears  before  his  Father  now  ; 
He  pleads,-T-what  can  those  pleadings  be  ? 
Oh,  deathless  love,  he  pleads  for  me  ! 

And  can  I  then  such  scenes  behold, 
And  still  be  careless,  still  be  cold  ? 
Can  I,  with  air  of  sinful  pride, 
Cast  such  unbounded  love  aside  ? 
My  soul,  oh,  can  it,  can  it  be  ? 
Has  Jesus  died  in  vain  for  thee  ? 

Oh,  no  !  the  crimson  streams  that  glide 
From  Calvary's  deeply  blood-stained  side, 
Invite  my  soul,  so  stained  with  sin, 
To  wash  away  its  guilt  therein ; 
And  in  those  precious  drops  I  see 
Christ  has  not  died  in  vain  for  me  ! 


174  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

The  Saviour  pleads,  in  thrilling  tone, 
Before  his  mighty  Father's  throne, 
That  for  his  sake  my  guilty  name 
Within  the  book  of  "life  may  c;laim 
A  place.     He  smiles  ;  and  now  I  see 
Christ  does  not  plead  in  vain  for  me  ! 

Amazing  love  !  what  tongue  can  tell 
The  wondrous  depths  that  in  thee  dwell  ? 
What  angel's  mind  can  e'er  explore 
The  riches  of  thy  boundless  store  ? 
Oh,  matchless  love  beyond  degree, — 
Christ  bled,  he  died,  and  pleads  for  me  ! 


LOVE  YOUR  ENEMIES. 

Arrows  di^Dped  in  poison  flew 

From  the  fatal  bow  ; 
And  they  pierced  my  bosom  through, 

And  they  laid  me  low. 

Every  nerve  to  anguish  strung. 

In  distress  I  cried  : 
And  the  waste  around  me  rung, 

But  no  voice  replied. 

"  Cruel  was  the  hand,"  I  said, 
"  That  could  draw  the  bow  : 
Curses  rest  upon  the  head 
Of  my  heartless  foe  !  " 

Turning  straightway  at  the  sound, 

In  the  tangled  wood. 
Pale,  and  bearing  many  a  wound, 

There  a  strans:er  stood. 


MISCELLANY.  175 

Mofirnfully  on  me  he  gazed, 

Not  a  word  he  said  : 
But  one  hand  the  stranger  raised, 

And  I  saw  it  bled. 

Blood  was  flov\^ing  from  his  side 

And  his  thorn-pierced  brow  ; 

"  Who  has  wounded  thee  ?  "  I  cried. 

And  he  answered,  "  Thou  !  " 

Then  I  knew  the  Stranger  well, 

And  with  sobs  and  tears 
Prostrate  at  his  feet  I  fell. 

But  he  soothed  my  fears. 

"  Thou  hast  wounded  me,  but  live, — 
And  my  blessing  take : 
Henceforth  wilt  thou  not  forgive 
Freely  for  my  sake  ?  " 

Kesting  in  his  fond  embrace. 

Eased  of  every  woe, — 
Then  I  said,  with  smiling  face, 
"  Jesus,  bless  my  foe  !  " 


THE  ORPHAN. 

The  storm  was  loud ;  a  nuirky  cloud 

O'erhung  the  midnight  sky, 
And  rude  the  blast  that  wildly  passed 

A  lonely  orphan  by  ; 
But  ruder  still  the  bitter  thrill 

Of  woe  that  rent  his  heart ; 
Darker  his  fears,  sadder  the  tears 

That  evermore  would  start. 


176  CAXADIAX    WILD    FLOWERS. 

"  Bleak  is  the  storm,  and  on  my  form 

The  winds  in  fury  beat ; 
A  racking  pain  torments  my  brain, 

And  sore  these  weary  feet ; 
No  ray  of  light  illumes  the  night, 

And  here,  alas  !  I  roam. 
Where  tempests  howl  and  wild  beasts  growl; 

Oh,  that  I  had  a  home ! 

"  Full  many  a  day  has  rolled  away 

Since  I  have  laid  me  down, 
To  cease  to  weep,  and  fall  asleep, 

Save  on  the  cold,  damp  ground  ; 
And  many  more  may  j^ass  me  o'er 

Ere  I  may  cease  to  roam  ; 
One  year  ago  it  was  not  so,-^ 

For  then  I  had  a  home  ! 

"  Then  on  his  child  a  father  smiled, 

And  fondJy  me  caressed  ; 
When  sorrow  came,  or  bitter  pain, 

I  leaned  upon  his  breast ; 
He'd  kiss  my  cheek,  and  kindly  speak 

In  soft  and  soothing  tone  ; 
Oh,  what  a  strange  and  dreary  change — 

For  then  I  had  a  home  ! 


"  When  evening  gray  shut  out  the  day, 

Beside  my  mother's  knee. 
With  simple  air  I  breathed  the  prayer 

That  mother  taught  to  me  ; 
Then  laid  me  down,  not  on  the  ground, 

Not  on  this  cold,  damp  stone  ; 
But  on  my  bed,  love  made  instead, — 

For  then  I  had  a  home  ! 


MISCELLANY.  177 

"  The  livelong  day  I  spent  in  play 

Around  our  peaceful  cot, 
Or  plucked  the  flowers  from  blooming  bowers, 

And  to  my  mother  brought. 
Then  bliss  and  joy  without  alloy, 

And  love  around  me  shone  ; 
Then  hope  could  rest  within  my  breast — 

For  then  I  had  a  home  ! 

"  My  father  died,  and  by  his  side 

My  darling  mother  sleeps  ; 
And  now  their  child  in  anguish  wild 

Wanders  around  and  weeps  ! 
The  pleasant  cot  my  father  bought 

A  stranger  calls  his  own  ; 
With  tearful  face  I  left  the  place. 

For  it  was  not  my  home  ! 

"No  home  have  I,  no  shelter  nigh, 

And  none  my  grief  to  share  ; 
But  I've  a  Friend,  to  him  I'll  bend, 

And  he  will  grant  my  prayer. 
He'll  lend  an  ear  for  he  can  hear, 

Though  high  his  mighty  throne  ; 
My  steps  he'll  guide,  and  he'll  provide 

The  orphan  with  a  home  ! 

"  Dark  grows  the  sky,  my  lips  are  dry, 

And  cold  my  aching  brow  ; 
Is  this  a  dream  ? — for,  lo  !  I  seem 

To  see  my  mother  now  ! 
Faint  grows  my  breath,  the  arms  of  death 

Are  surely  round  me  thrown  ; 
Oh,  what  a  light  breaks  on  my  sight ! 

There,  there's  the  orphan's  home  !  " 


178  caxadia:n^  wild  flowers. 

With  smiling  face  in  death's  embrace 

The  orphan  calmly  slept ; 
He  heard  no  more  the  tempest's  roar; 

No  more  the  orphan  wept. 
No  longer  pain  might  rack  his  brain, 

No  longer  might  he  roam, 
The  dearly  loved  he'd  met  above, 

And  found  with  them  a  home  ! 


SENTENTIOUS  PARAGRAPHS. 

Rest,  but  few  can  comprehend  the  word.  At  morn 
I  speak  it,  but  at  midnight  most,  and  then  'tis  music  ! 
Oh,  the  thought  of  rest — of  perfect  freedom  from  dis- 
tress and  pain — of  health,  of  vigor  in  each  nerve  and 
limb.  The  thought  inspires,  consoles,  and  makes  me 
pray  for  fear  I  shall  lose  the  blessing.  Grant  me,  0 
God,  a  patient  heart ;  and  may  my  will  be  so  con- 
formed to  thine,  that  I  may  wait  thy  own  good  pleas- 
ure, whatsoever  it  be. 

There  are  moments  when  Calvary  overshadows 
Mount  Sinai ;  when  the  blessed  words,  "  It  is  fin- 
ished," swell  long  and  loud  above  the  roar  of  thunder 
and  the  sound  of  trumpets  ;  when  the  Cross  conceals 
the  Tables  of  stone  bearing  the  holy  law  of  the 
Almighty,  and  then  I  can  boldly  reply  to  the  upbraid- 
ings  of  Conscience,  "  There  is  now  no  condemnation 
to  them  which  are  in  Christ  Jesus." 

Sing,  my  heart,  for  the  day  cometh  wherein  the 
night  shall  be  no  more  at  all  remembered;  the  clouds 


MISCELLANY.  17& 

shall  melt  like  vapor,  and  the  voice  of  mourning  and 
lamentation  shall  be  heard  no  more  forever.  Awake 
and  sins: ! 


"YE  DID  IT  NOT  TO  ME." 

'Twas  nig-ht — a  dark  and  stormy  night: 

The  Avintry  winds  were  high ; 
Within  the  lire  was  blazing  bright 
And  as  I  trimmed  the  cheerful  light 

I  heard  a  pleading  cry. 

"  Come  in,"  in  hasty  tones  I  said, 

The  door  flew  open  wide — 
The  tempest  roared — I  shrieked  with  dread, 
For,  lo,  a  Spectre  from  the  dead 

Was  standing  by  my  side  ! 

One  icy  hand  was  on  mine  own, 

I  would  have  turned  and  fled : 
But  ah !  my  limbs  were  chilled  to  stone, 
As  in  a  low,  sepulchral  tone 

The  sheeted  Spectre  said  : 

"  It  was  a  night  like  this  I  died, 

Scorned  by  my  fellow  men  ; 
To  me  a  shelter  was  denied 
But  when  they  slumber  by  my  side. 

We  shall  be  equals  then. 

"  I  starved — and  thou  wast  clothed  and  fed. 

And  had  enough  to  spare  ; 
Thou  mightst  have  come  with  gentle  tread. 
And  stood  beside  my  dying  bed, 

And  found  a  blessing  there. 


180  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS, 

"  But  now  my  curse  :  nor  mine  alone — 

The  moment  yet  will  be 
When  thou  wilt  stand  before  the  Throne, 
And  hear  it  said  in  thunder  tone : 

'  Thou  didst  it  not  to  Me.' " 

The  light  grew  dim  throughout  the  room, 

Soon  darkness  reigned  supreme, 
But  that  pale  Spectre  from  the  tomb 
Still  eyed  me  through  the  dusky  gloom, — 
Thank  God,  'twas  but  a  dream  ! 


HEAR  AND  HELP  ME. 

Darkness  and  death  are  round  me, 

The  night  is  late ; 
Yet  once  the  Shepherd  found  me 

In  such  a  state  ! 
He  lulled  my  fears  to  rest, 
He  took  me  to  his  breast ; 
Is  he  less  kind  to-day  ? 
Lord  Jesus,  hear  me  pray ! 

Oh,  hear  me  pray  ! 
Remove  the  hateful,  sin 
Which  cankers  all  within 

And  shrouds  my  way. 
Oh,  hear  me  in  my  anguish. 

My  Saviour  God ! 
I  droop,  I  faint,  I  languish 

Beneath  thy  rod : 
I  tremble  on  the  brink. 
Support  me  or  I  sink : 
Oh,  hear  me  while  I  cry ; 
Oh,  save  me  or  I  die  I 


MISCELLANY.  181 

FAREWELL. 

We  stood  upon  the  lonely  shore 

And  watched  the  bounding  bark 
Which  far  away  the  loved  ones  bore, 

On  billows  wild  and  dark  ; 
And  then  there  came  a  gloomy  sound 
Mournfully,  mournfully  stealing  around — 

And  the  sound  was  this, 
As  it  rose  and  fell 

O'er  the  broad  expanse, — 
"  Farewell !  fareivdl !  " 

We  sougjit  our  home — once  bright  and  fair. 

No  word  of  hope  we  said, 
Tor  Sorrow  entered  with  us  there. 

With  slow  and  silent  tread  ; 
And  came  a  voice  from  every  room 
Mournfully,  mournfully  through  the  gloom ; 
And  the  voice  was  this, 

As  it  sadly  fell 
On  our  aching  hearts, — 
"  Farewell,  farewell !  " 

The  garden  that  at  morn  was  gay. 

And  the  sequestered  bower. 
Seemed  to  have  wept  their  bloom  away. 

All  in  one  little  hour  ; 
We  heard  a  voice  upon  the  breeze 
Sii^li  mournfully,  mournfully  through  the  trees, 

And  the  voice  was  this, 
As  it  rose  and  fell 

On  the  balmy  air, — 
"  Farewell,  farewell  !  " 

Years,  weary  years  have  passed  us  o'er 
Since  that  unhappy  morn, 


182  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEllS. 

And  in  our  arms  we  clasp  once  more 

With  rapture  our  first-born. 
And  thankful  for  our  Father's  care 
Gratefully,  gratefully  raise  the  prayer, 
That  when  life  is  o'er 

Our  anthems  may  swell 
Where  lips  breathe  no  more — 
Farewell,  farewell ! 


NO  MOTHER. 

No  mother  !  well,  the  burning  tears  may  flow 
And  bathe  thy  pillow,  hapless  orphan,  now  ; 

No  mother's  tender  voice  may  soothe  thy  woe, 
No  mother's  kiss  is  on  thy  aching  brow. 

Thou  hearest  footsteps  passing  by  the  door, 

Oft  hast  thou  heard  thy  mother's  footsteps  there  ; 

But  ah  !  she  comes,  unhappy  boy,  no  more 

To  say  "  Good  night  "  or  hear  thy  evening  prayer. 

Weep  on :  there's  none  to  wipe  away  thy  tears. 
There's  none  on  earth  thy  mother's  place  to  fill ; 

The  night  seems  dark,  but  when  the  morn  appears 
Darkness  and  gloom  will  be  around  thee  still. 

For  thou  hast  lost  what  time  can  ne'er  restore, 
What  other  friends,  though  kind,  can  never  be ; 

She  had  bright  visions  of  a  better  shore 
But  asked  to  live — it  was  alone  for  thee. 

Kneel,  wretched  orphan,  kneel  beside  thy  bed ; 

Thy  voice  is  choked,  thy  sobs  have  louder  grown ; 
No  mother's  hand  is  lying  on  thy  head. 

No  mother's  heart  is  lifted  with  thy  own. 


MISCELLANY.  183 

But  tliou  canst  pray,  and  on  the  Saviour's  breast, 
Which  feels  for  every  grief  and  every  care, 

Pillow  thy  head  and  sweetly  sink  to  rest, 
A  Ttiore  than  mother  will  protect  thee  there. 


TO  A  MOTHER  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  CHILD. 

Mother,  thy  loved  one  slumbers  now 

In  deep,  unbroken  rest ; 
But  slumbers  not  with  smiling  brow 

Upon  thy  tender  breast. 
Oh,  no  !  for  Death  with  cruel  dart, 

Unheeding  anguish  wild. 
Has  rudely  torn  thy  yearning  heart. 

And  borne  aw\ay  thy  child. 

Thj'  home  is  drear  at  break  of  day. 

And  drear  at  set  of  sun ; 
Por,  lo  !  the  grave  enwraps  the  clay 

Of  thy  departed  one. 
And  vainly  does  thy  spirit  sigh. 

With  yearnings  deep  and  wild. 
To  clasp  once  more  within  thy  arms 

Thy  dear,  thy  darling  child. 

Cold  Death  has  snatched  thy  lovely  flower ; 

But,  lo !  the  day  draws  near. 
When  even  Death  shall  lose  his  power. 

And  thy  sweet  child  appear 
All  glorious  with  immortal  life, 

In  Eden's  garden  fair. 
Oh,  mother,  mother  !  would'st  thou  meet 

Thy  dearly-loved  one  there  ? 

Oh,  would'st  thou  join  the  blood-washed  throng 
On  that  immortal  shore  ? 


184  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWEltS. 

Oil,  would'st  thou  swell  the  Conqueror's  son§ 
And  greet  thy  child  once  more  ? 

Then  turn  to  Him  who  died  for  thee 
A  death  of  woe  and  pain  ; 

And  at  the  resurrection  morn 
Embrace  thy  child  again  ! 


IN  GOODNESS  IS  TRUE  GREATNESS. 

[The  following  lines  were  addressed  to  lier  brother  on  re- 
ceiving a  locket  containing  his  daguerreotyije.] 

I  touch  the  spring — and  lo,  a  face 

Which  for  these  many  years 
Within  my  heart  has  had  a  place, 

A  tender  place — 0;pj)ears. 

The  large  dark  eyes  look  up  to  mine, 

So  like  thyself ! — the  cheek, 
The  brow,  the  features,  all  are  thine : 

Speak  to  me,  brother,  speak  ! 

And  tell  me  of  each  grief  and  care : 

For  be  they  great  or  small, 
A  sister's  heart  would  take  a  share — 

And,  if  it  could,  take  all ! 

And  tell  me  of  each  hopeful  plan. 

And  how  the  future  seems, — 
Oh,  may  that  future  to  the  man 

lie  all  the  boy  now  dreams. 

I've  heard  thee  say  thou  wouldst  be  great, 

And  with  the  gifted  shine  ; 
'T  is  Avell ;  but  there  's  a  nobler  fate, 

I  pray  it  may  be  thine : 


MISCELLANY.  185 

It  is  to  be  an  lionest  man, — 

To  elevate  thy  race, 
And  like  the  good  Samaritan 

Do  good  in  every  place ; 

To  struggle  bravely  for  the  right, 

Though  kings -defend  the  wrong; 
To  live  as  in  thy  Maker's  sight, 

And  in  his  strength  be  strong ; 

To  put  the  spotless  garment  on, 

To  keep  it  pure  and  white. 
And  when  the  endless  day  shall  dawn 

Eeceive  a  crown  of  light. 

Dear  brother,  fame  is  but  a  breath. 

So  I  implore  for  thee 
A  holy  life,  a  happy  death, 

A  blest  eternity. 


SIMILES, 

Beneath  the  snow  and  frost  of  Avinter  there  are  liv- 
ing seeds  which  shall  produce  abundant  harvests  :  so 
beneath  a  cold  exterior  there  may  be  a  heart  full  of 
high  resolves  and  glorious  impulses,  which  at  the 
right  season  shall  burst  into  blossom  and  bear  pre- 
cious fruit. 

How  often  the  sun  rises  in  a  cloudless  sky,  to  be 
obscured  before  noonday !  Human  life  is  like  our 
fickle  clime :  to-day  all  sunshine,  and  to-morrow 
clouds. 


186  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

The  sun  is  tlie  same  by  day  and  night,  but  the 
earth  comes  betwixt  his  light  and  us :  so  when  the 
Sun  of  righteousness  seems  to  have  left  our  horizon 
and  we  turn  in  vain  to  the  right  and  the  left  to  find 
him,  may  it  not  be  that  the  dark,  dense  earth  has 
come  betwixt  us  and  his  life-giving  beams,  while  He 
remains  "the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever"? 

The  thistle  has  a  fragrant  smell,  and  the  thorn  a 
pleasant  fruit.  It  is  a  disease  in  the  shell-fish  that 
makes  the  pearl :  so  your  sickness,  my  friend,  may 
be  the  means  of  your  winning  the  Pearl  of  great  price. 

What  plant  would  thrive  if  the  sun  shone  forever  ? 
and  what  should  we  be  if  the  sun  of  prosperity  always 
shone  upon  our  pathway  ?  Along  life's  dusty  thor- 
oughfare I  see  the  world,  but  not  as  I  saw  it  once : 
sickness  and  sorrow  have  given  me  another  pair  of 
eyes. 

Gentle  breezes,  balmy  breezes, 
There  is  vigor  in  your  breath. 

But  ye  cannot  bring  the  roses 
To  the  leaden  cheeks  of  death ! 

The  soil  that  produces  the  rankest  weeds  would  by 
proper  care  and  cultivation  produce  the  richest  crops : 
so  will  the  human  heart  when  regenerated  by  grace 
and  truth. 

The  violet  cannot  become  the  rose,  the  daisy  cannot 
be  the  lily;  and  if  they  could  all  be  the  loveliest 
flower,  earth  would  lose  half  its  beauty.  Without  va- 
riety, a  scene  however  fair  within  itself  soon  wearies 


MISCELLANY.  187 

US.  Knowest  thou  the  moral  ?  Be  content  in  thy 
proper  sphere:  thou  mayest  be  the  violet  or  the 
daisy,  but  envy  not  the  rose  and  the  lily;  all  are 
beautiful  when  in  their  appointed  place. 

At  morn  the  shadows  slant  toward  the  west,  but 
toward  the  east  at  night:  so  when  the  sun  of  life  de- 
clines the  shadows  stretch  away  toward  the  everlast- 
ing hills  whence  the  eternal  beams  of  day  shall  arise. 


THE  CRUCIFIED  OF  GALILEE. 

Methought  I  stood,  at  close  of  day, 
Where  soft  the  balmy  breezes  play, 
And  bright  beneath  the  Eastern  skies 
The  sacred  hills  of  Canaan  vise. 
And  saw  him  on  the  shameful  tree, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

I  heard  the  mocking  throng  deride 
The  anguish  of  the  Crucified  ; 
I  saw  the  brilliant  sun  groAv  dim  ; 
I  heard  creation  shriek  for  him ; 
I  saw  him  die,  and  die  for  me, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

And  then  I  saw  the  veil  upraised 
From  the  eternal  world,  and  gazed 
Upon  the  scene  in  deep  surprise; 
One  form  alone  could  fix  my  eyes  ; 
I  knew  him,  yes,  indeed  'twas  he, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

And  though  upon  his  lovely  brow 
A  beam  of  glory  rested  now  ; 


188  CANADIAX    WILD    FLOWEUS. 

Though  angels  praised  his  holy  name ; 
Yet  still  I  kneAV  he  was  the  same 
Who  hung  upon  the  shameful  tree, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

I  knew  him  by  his  tender  air  ; 
I  knew  him  by  the  fervent  prayer 
He  breathed  for  those  for  whom  he  died  ; 
I  knew  him  by  his  wounded  side ; 
By  these  I  knew  that  it  was  he, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

I  knew  him  by  the  loving  smile 
With  which  he  welcomed  sinners  vile  ; 
I  knew  him,  for  he  took  a  share 
In  all  his  children's  griefs  and  care  ; 
I  knew  him  by  his  love  for  me, — 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 

The  vision  faded  from  afar  ; 
But  still 't  is  memory's  guiding  star, 
To  cheer  the  night  and  point  a  way 
Unto  an  everlasting  day. 
When  I,  with  unveiled  eyes,  shall  see 
The  Crucified  of  Galilee  ! 


THE  ASCENSION. 

A  well-known  group  stood  on  the  mountain  side 
And  in  their  midst  appeared  the  Crucified. 
Oft  had  they  stood  in  that  sequestered  place. 
Their  beaming  eyes  fixed  on  their  Saviour's  face ; 
But  never  met  on  Olivet's  fair  brow 
With  such  emotions  as  they  cherished  now ; 
And  never  with  such  eager  spirits  hung 


MIS  CELL  AX  Y.  189 

Upon  tlie  words  that  fell  from  Jesus'  tongue  ; 

For  never  had  their  Master's  voice  before 

Sounded  so  sweet  as  when — his  mission  o'er, — 

He  gathered  round  him  that  devoted  band, 

To  give  his  blessing  and  his  last  command : 

"  Go  ye,  and  teach  all  nations  in  my  name — 

The  Jew  and  Greek,  the  bond  and  free,  the  same ; 

But  first  proclaim  a  Saviour's  love  to  those 

Who  thirsted  for  his  blood,  and  mocked  his  woes, 

That  they,  believing,  through  his  death  may  live. 

And  know  their  risen  Saviour  can  forgive. 

Ye  shall  declare  salvation's  waters  free, 

And  bid  all  nations  to  the  fountain  flee ; 

And  though  ye  meet  with  perils  dark  and  drear, 

And  tribulation  be  your  portion  here, — 

Though  persecution,  with  uplifted  sword. 

Shall  call  for  blood,  and  your  own  blood  be  poured, — 

Yet  know  that  I,  your  Saviour  and  your  friend, 

Will  be  with  you  till  life  itself  shall  end ; 

And  with  all  those  who  boldly  shall  proclaim 

To  a  lost  world  salvation  through  my  name, 

In  every  land,  in  every  age  and  clime. 

Till  the  last  trump  shall  sound  the  knell  of  time.'* 


The  humble  followers  of  the  Nazarene 
In  silent  awe  gazed  on  the  wondrous  scene  ; 
Beheld  their  Lord  in  power  and  glory  rise 
Up  the  bright  pathway  of  the  parting  skies  ; 
And  while  they  strove  with  piercing  eyes  in  vain 
To  catch  one  glimpse  of  that  dear  form  again, 
Two  angels  left  the  bright  and  heavenly  shore. 
And  messages  of  joy  and  love  they  bore. 
Oh,  glorious  message  to  that  faithful  band, 
Who  on  the  mountain's  top  bewildered  stand  I 
Oh,  glorious  sound  to  every  ransomed  soul. 


190  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWEKS. 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  spreading  pole  to  pole 

In  every  age,  oh,  tell  the  tidings  o'er — 

"  That  very  Jesus  shall  return  once  more  !  " 

Hark  !  angel-voices  rend  the  vaulted  sky, 

In  thrilling  tones  those  shining  angels  cry, 

"  Why  stand  ye  gazing  on  yon  glistening  dome  ? 

Heaven  has  received  your  risen  Master  home  ! 

The  time  will  come,  when,  as  ye  saw  him  rise, 

He  shall  descend  in  power  the  parted  skies." 


THE  HEBREW'S  LAMENT. 

Thou  art  the  land  of  all  my  dreams, — 
Thy  wanderer's  heart  is  thine. 

And  oft  he  lingers  by  thy  streams, 
0  holy  Palestine ! 

A  stranger  in  a  stranger's  land 

O'er  hill  and  vale  I  roam  ; 
But  hope  forever  points  her  hand 

Towards  my  father's  home. 

They  tell  me  that  on  Zion's  hill 
The  Cross  and  Crescent  shine  : 

But  oh,  my  heart  is  with  thee  still. 
Beloved  Palestine. 

I  know  that  Israel's  weary  race 
Are  scorned  on  every  shore. 

And  scarcely  find  a  dwelling-place 
Where  they  were  lords  before. 

Yet,  'mid  the  darkness  and  the  gloom, 

A  light  begins  to  break  ; 
0  Israel,  from  the  dreary  tomb 

Thy  buried  hopes  awake, — 


MISCELLANY.  191 

And  lips  that  raise  tlie  fervent  prayer, 
"  How  long,  0  Lord,  how  long  ?  " 

Shall  change  the  Availmgs  of  despair 
To  the  triumphant  song. 

And  I  may  live  to  see  the  hour — 

The  hour  that  must  be  near, — 
When  in  his  royalty  and  power 

Our  Shiloh  will  appear. 

Till  then  my  prayers  will  rise  for  thee, 

Till  then  my  heart  be  thine, 
0  land  beyond  the  stormy  sea, 

0  holy  Palestine. 


WHEN  SHALL  I  RECEIVE  MY  DIPLOMA? 

For  many  long  years  I  have  been  in  the  school  of. 
affliction,  and  during  that  time  how  often  I  have 
asked  the  questions.  When  will  my  course  be  com- 
pleted ?  when  shall  I  receive  my  diploma  ?  But  let 
me  first  consider :  Am  I  prepared  for  the  grand  exam- 
ination in  Avhich  angels  are  to  be  the  spectators,  and 
God  himself  judge  ?  Here  teachers  and  professors — 
however  skilled  in  human  wisdom,  friends  and  rela- 
tives— however  anxious  for  my  welfare,  must  step 
aside  and  leave  me  alone  before  the  dread  tribunal ! 
In  the  presence  of  my  fellow-creatures  I  might  wear 
the  robes  of  hypocrisy  and  appear  in  reality  what  I 
am  not ;  but  what  would  this  avail  me  in  the  presence 
of  Him  who  knows  every  thought  even  before  it  is 


192  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

formed,  and  whose  searching  eye  can  take  in  at  a  sin- 
gle glance  the  past,  present,  and  future  of  my  history  ? 
0  dreaded  hour  !  who  can  wonder  that  timid  mor- 
tals put  it  far  in  the  distance,  and  even  strive  to  shut 
their  eyes  to  its  stern  reality  ?  What  folly  !  Were 
the  light  of  revelation  quenched  forever,  there  is  that 
within  every  human  breast  which  warns  of  a  judg- 
ment to  come  and  of  a  righteous  retribution.  Swift 
as  the  planets  roll  in  their  orbits  around  the  sun,  still 
swifter  advances  that  terrible  scene  around  which  the 
hopes  and  fears,  the  joys  and  miseries  of  eternity 
cluster.  It  is  the  great  centre  of  attraction,  not  only 
for  one  age  or  one  nation,  but  for  all  who  have  drawn 
the  breath  of  life  from  the  grand  creation  anthem  of 
stars  and  angels  (Job  38  :  4-7)  till  stars  and  angels 
again  lift  up  their  voices  in  concert,  and  swear  that 
"  Time  shall  be  no  longer."  Yet  the  life,  the  heart  of 
each  individual  there  will  be  as  closely  examined  as 
if  the  court  of  Heaven  were  sitting  for  him  alone,  and 
he  the  only  person  for  whom  the  joys  of  Paradise  or 
the  pains  of  Hell  were  prepared  by  eternal  Justice  ! 


ALONE  WITH  JESUS. 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  leave  me  here. 
Without  a  wish,  without  a  fear, — 
My  pulse  is  weak  and  faint  my  breath 
But  is  He  not  the  Lord  of  death  ? 
And  if  I  live,  or  if  I  die, 
'T  is  all  the  same  when  He  is  niaii. 


MISCELLANY.  193 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  ye  who  weep, 
And  round  my  bed  your  vigils  keep, 
My  love  was  never  half  so  strong, 
And  yours — oh,  I  have  proved  it  long. 
But  when  had  earthly  friend  the  power 
To  comfort  in  a  dying  hour  ! 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  oh,  how  sweet 
In  health  to  worship  at  his  feet ! 
But  sweeter  far  when  day  by  day 
We  droop,  and  pine,  and  waste  away, 
To  feel  his  arms  around  us  close, 
And  in  his  bosom  find  repose  ! 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  how  secure. 
Vile  in  myself,  in  him  how  p)ure  ; 
The  tempests  howl,  the  waters  beat. 
They  harm  me  not  in  my  retreat ; 
Night  deepens — 'mid  its  gloom  and  chill 
He  draws  me  nearer  to  him  still. 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  what  alarms 
The  infant  in  its  mother's  arms  ? 
Before  me  death  and  judgment  rise, — 
I  turn  my  head  and  close  mine  eyes. 
There's  naught  for  me  to  fear  or  do, 
I  know  that  he  will  bear  me  through  ! 

Alone  with  Jesus  !  earth  grows  dim, — 
I  even  see  my  friends  through  him ; 
Time,  space,  all  things  below,  above, 
Reveal  to  me  one  Life,  one  Love, — 
That  One  in  whom  all  glories  shine, 
All  beauties  meet — that  One  is  mine  ! 


194  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWEKS. 

THE  LOST  BABE. 

There  was  a  bower  that  love  had  reared 

And  beautified  with  care  ; 
One  day  a  messenger  appeared 

And  asked  admission  there. 

He  was  not  welcome  to  the  bower, 

For  something  in  his  face,_ 
Where'er  he  went,  had  always  power 

To  cloud  the  brightest  place. 

Love  barred  the  door,  and  cried,  "  Forbear, 

Thou  art  no  bidden  guest  "; 
Then  gathered  up  her  jewels  rare 

And  hid  them  in  her  breast. 

Still  louder  knocked  he  than  before. 

And  still  he  was  denied ; 
Then,  laughing  at  the  well-barred  door, 

He  threw  it  open  wide. 

"  I  come  from  Paradise  above," 

The  messenger  began : 
"  Oh,  not  in  anger  but  in  love 

God  worketh  out  his  plan. 

"  Sent  from  the  King's  eternal  throne 
My  mission  to  fulfill, 
I  ask  one  jewel  of  thine  own, — 
It  is  the  Master's  will : 

"  One  birdling  from  the  parent  nest, 
One  lamb  from  out  thy  fold, 
To  nestle  in  the  Saviour's  breast 
As  did  the  babes  of  old. 


MISCELLAXY. 


195 


"  How  safe !     Her  resting-place  how  sweet ! 
But  thou  wilt  sadly  miss 
The  busy  hands,  the  dancing  feet, 
The  prattle  and  the  kiss. 

"  There  comes  an  hour,  so  long  foretold 
That  many  deem  it  vain, 
When  in  his  arms  thou  shalt  behold 
That  precious  lamb  again. 

"  When  earth  and  sea  at  God's  command 
Their  treasures  shall  restore 
Then  thou  shalt  clasp  this  little  hand, 
Nor  dread  a  parting  more." 

Love  wept — her  very  bosom  bled 

For  tjiat  lost  little  one  ; 
But  Faith  supported  her  and  said, 

"  The  Master's  will  be  done." 


THE  DAY  OF  WRATH. 

"  The  great  day  of  bis  wrath  is  come;  and  who  shall  be  ablo  to  stand  ?" 
— Kev.  6  :  17. 

The  nations  tremble,  and  the  isles  are  moved  ; 

All  cheeks  are  gathering  paleness  ;  lips  are  dumb 
That  smiled  in  scorn  but  yesterday,  or  proved 

The  day  of  wrath  would  not  for  ages  come  ; 
Each  eye  is  fixed — there  seems  nor  life  nor  breath 
In  that  vast  human  sea, — but  ali !  it  is  not  death. 

The  morning  broke  in  splendor,  as  it  rose 

Upon  the  fated  Cities  of  the  Plain ; 
And  men  went  forth  refreshed  from  their  repose, 

Where  duty  called  them,  or  the  love  of  gain ; 


19&  CANADIAN    WILD    FLOWERS. 

When  sudden  as  the  lightning's  vivid  glare 

Like  heated  furnace  glowed  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  air. 

From  the  Equator  to  the  frozen  Pole, 

All  nations  saw,  and  understood  "  the  sign  "; 

The  seventh  angel  sounded  !  like  a  scroll 
The  heavens  departed,  and  a  Form  divine 

And  awful  in  its  grandeur  was  revealed, — 

The  sun  and  moon  grew  pale,  and  earth  astounded 
reeled. 

Then  rose  a  wail  of  anguish  and  despair — 
By  men,  by  angels,  never  heard  before  ; 

The  tones  of  earth  and  hell  were  mingled  there, 
Henceforth  to  be  thus  mingled  evermore 

Beyond  the  reach  of  Mercy's  loving  ear," 

Who  wept  and  pleaded  once — but  will  no  longer  hear. 

But  hark !  in  contrast  what  a  shout  of  joy 
Goes  up  to  heaven  ;  it  tells  of  victory  won 

O'er  sin  and  death,  o'er  all  that  can  destroy, — 
It  tells  of  life  eternal  just  begun, — 

Of  bliss  coeval  with  the  endless  years, — 

Of  love  that  waited  long  for  Him  who  now  appears. 

My  soul  consider — 't  is  no  idle  flight 

Of  fancy,  when  she  pictures  thus  the  day 

When  sun  and  planets  shall  withdraw  their  light, 
And  heaven  and  earth  like  smoke  shall  pass  away ; 

God  hath  declared  it,  and  our  Saviour  hath. 

And  lo,  it  hastens  fast — that  dreadful  day  of  wrath. 

Where  wilt  thou  find  a  shelter  from  t'he  storm  ? 

Not  wealth,  nor  power,  nor  friends  can  succor  then; 
How  wilt  thou  gaze  upon  that  glorious  Form 

That  seals  the  doom  of  angels  and  of  men  ? 


MISCELLAXY.  197 

HoAV  wilt  thou  stand  before  the  judgment  seat 
And  every  idle  Avord,  and  thought,  and  action  meet  ? 

O  Lamb  of  God  whose  blood  was  shed  for  me, — 
Eedeemer,  Saviour,  Lover  of  mankind, — 

Spread  over  me  thy  robes,  that  I  in  Thee 

A  slielter  from  that  dreadful  storm  may  find, — 

And  calm  amid  the  tumult  and  despair 

Look  at  the  great  white  throne,  and  see  my  Surety 
there ! 


THE  BELIEVER'S  SAFETY. 

Ah,  Christian,  why  is  thy  heart  sad  and  thy  brow 
clouded  ?  Hast  thou  been  gazing  down  into  the  depths 
of  thine  own  soul,  and  art  thou  startled  at  what  thou 
hast  there  seen  ?  Hast  thou  met  with  evil  thoughts 
which  thou  wouldst  gladly  never  have  harbored,  and 
art  thou  despairing  because  of  thy  short-comings  and 
unworthiness  ?  Art  thou  looking  to  the  future  with 
dread,  and  trembling  lest  in  the  hour  of  trial  and 
temjDtation  thou  wilt  fall  ? 

Turn  away  thine  eyes  from  the  pollution  of  thine 
own  sinful  heart,  and  gaze  upon  One  who  has  become 
a  perfect  sin-offering  for  thee.  True,  thou  art  frail 
and  unworthy,  but  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  is  worthy, 
and  his  jjerfection  is  enough  for  thee  ;  his  righteous- 
ness alone  recjommends  thee  to  the  Father.  Dost 
thou  trust  in  him  with  all  thy  heart  ?  Dost  thou 
hope  for  eternal  life  because  he  died  ?  Then  thou, 
art  safe.     "  The  eternal  God  is  thy  refuge,  and  under- 


198  CANADIAN   WILD    FLOWERS. 

neath  thee  are  the  everlasting  arms."  The  storms 
may  howl,  and  tempests  may  gather  around  thee  ;  the 
billows  may  rage,  but  they  only  lash  the  Eock  upon 
which  thou  standest.  ''  Though  the  earth  be  re- 
moved, and  the  mountains  be  cast  into  the  midst  of 
the  sea,"  yet  thou  art  safe,  for  he  who  made  the  heav- 
ens and  the  earth  is  thy  Father.  He  who  command- 
eth  the  sun,  and  it  riseth  not,  and  sealeth  up  the 
stars ;  "  who  alone  spreadeth  out  the  heavens  and 
treadeth  upon  the  waves  of  the  sea,"  is  thy  nearest 
and  dearest  friend.  The  same  voice  which  said,  "Let 
there  be  light,  and  there  was  light;"  which  com- 
manded the  raging  waters,  "Hitherto  shalt  thou  come, 
but  no  farther :  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be 
stayed,"  is  still  whispering  in  thine  ear,  "Fear  thee 
not,  for  I  am  with  thee ;  be  not  dismayed,  for  I  am 
thy  God."  Yes,  thou  art  safe  !  thou  art  trusting  in 
the  mighty  One  of  Israel,  and  thou  shalt  never  be  con- 
founded. 

Thou  hast  been  looking  away  into  the  regions  of 
the  blessed;  thou  hast  beheld  with  an  eye  of  faith 
the  things  which  God  has  prepared  for  those  that  love 
him,  and  amid  the  ineffable  glory  of  that  beautiful 
world  thou  hast  heard  the  voices  of  the  redeemed 
from  the  earth,  saying  :  "  Salvation  to  our  God  which 
sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb,"  until 
thou  hast  longed  to  join  with  them  in  the  song  of  re- 
demption, singing  praises  forever  and  ever  to  him  whp 
has  ransomed  thee  with  his  own  precious  blood. 
Then  a  cloud  has  gathered  over  thee,  thy  sinfulness 


MISCELLANY.  199- 

has  risen  like  a  mountain,  and  thou  hast  sighed  in  thy 
spirit,  ''  Oh,  that  I  were  sure  of  a  part  with  them ; 
oh,  that  I  was  safe  as  they  ! "  and  thou  art  as  safe 
this  moment  with  thy  feet  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages,  as 
if  thou  didst  walk  the  golden  streets  of  the  New  Je- 
rusalem, or  bow  with  the  angelic  hosts  around  the 
dazzling  throne  of  thy  Creator.  Thou  art  safe,  for 
thy  "life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God";  and  could'st 
thou  ask  for  a  surer  hiding-jDlace  !  Thou  hast  entered 
into  an  everlasting  covenant  with  the  King  of  kings, 
and  while  thou  dost  cling  to  his  side  shall  it  ever  be 
broken  ?  Thou  hast  entrusted  thy  soul  into  his 
hands,  and  is  he  not  able  to  "  keep  that  which  thou 
hast  committed  unto  him  ? "  Thine  enemies  are 
many  and  powerful,  but  what  are  they  compared  to 
the  living  God  ?  In  the  hour  of  temptation  "  he  will 
never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee  ";  when  thy  foes 
surround  thee  on  every  side,  and  the  darkness  of  mid- 
night gathers  over  thy  soul,  the  Almighty  arm  shall 
lift  up  a  standard,  and  thou  shalt  safely  repose  "  un- 
der the  shadoAv  of  his  wings."  "The  Lord  is  thy 
rock,  and  thy  fortress,  and  thy  deliverer."  "The 
Lord  is  thy  light  and  thy  salvation  ;  whom  shalt  thou 
fear  ?  The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  thy  life,  of  whom 
shalt  thou  be  afraid  ?  " 

Then  look  up,  Christian  !  'tis  no  time  for  despond- 
ing. The  glittering  spires  of  the  Eternal  City  are 
already  heaving  in  sight ;  perchance  another  storm, 
another  beating  against  the  fragile  bark,  and  thou 
art  there  !     Already  the  music  of  that  glorious  land 


200  CANADIAN"    WILD    FLOWERS. 

steals  softly  over  the  roaring  billows,  and  reminds 
thee  thou  art  nearing  the  peaceful  shore.  Already 
the  dark  cloud  which  gathers  above  thy  head  is 
tinged  with  the  beams  of  immortal  glory,  and  away 
in  the  distance  thou  canst  behold  the  first  faint  glim- 
merings of  the  Morning  Star.  Joy  for  thee,  0  wan- 
derer !  the  shadows  of  the  night  are  passing  away, 
and  the  unclouded  morning  comes  on  apace  ! 

Yes,  thou  art  safe  !  lift  up  thine  eyes, 

And  calm  thy  anxious  fears ; 
The  Sun  of  glory  gilds  the  skies, 

And  Christ  thy  life  appears. 


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